


The Fated Children

by Kount_Xero



Series: The Sorceress War [8]
Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Aftermath, Gen, Military Operations, Post Traumatic Stress, Sorceress lore, War, War Orphans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-26 18:43:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 43,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20031664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kount_Xero/pseuds/Kount_Xero
Summary: 13 years after the Third Sorceress War, Ocean Garden is struggling with the war orphans, their new cadets. An incident during a field exam sets in motion a chain of events that seems to be revolving around the first and final problem faced by the Fated Children... and their fate lies at the end of the struggle.





	1. Prologue

The droning of the television that set the soundtrack to him putting on his funeral clothes, that some called a uniform.

_“...self-identified as Totalists whose declared goal is to ensure that the Galbadian Republic is made whole once again. Our resources are scarce, but what is known is that the Dollet Dukedom is currently under the control of this rogue group. Caleb Vensor, current President of Galbadia, was unavailable for comment; however, Field Marshal Mir has stated that they have deferred the authority to SeeD. While there is some debate as to if a military intervention by the Galbadian government will constitute an act of war against the Dukedom, what is clear is that, having spent some odd years after the Third Sorceress War dealing with such threats, General Leonhart is the man for the job. Due to a lack of coverage, we-”_

A screech interrupted the broadcast. Laced with static, the sound of the ongoing battle came flooding through the comm unit on the comforter.

_“This is Alpha Squad, reporting from Ferrum Street! We’re pinned down here, the Totalists are holding the end and are blocking the way to the Square. We need backup! I repeat, this is Alpha Squad, requesting backup!”_

The buttons were done. Now for the filigree.

_“Alpha Squad, this is Beta Squad, we’re trying to force a breach through the main gate! Can you hold out?”_

_“Negative! We can either try and make the breach or retreat - either way, we gotta move!”_

The Silver Cross. Still shining. It went higher, for the first but not the most difficult one: Ultimecia.

_“Alpha Squad, retreat further back! If you come to us, we can both make the breach!”_

_“Negative! We can’t- oh SHIT TAKE COV”_

Explosion buzzing through the speaker. Now for the second one. The SeeD Star. Gold with navy blue accents. Same size, same weight, but somehow felt heavier. The price paid for it weighed it down. But it was his.

_“This is Alpha Squad, we’ve lost two members, we’re falling back! Can anyone rendezvous with us? Anyone? Great Hyne, can anyone hear me!? Are you out-“_

Silence. Light footsteps and the smell of strawberries.

The man standing in front of the body mirror looked into his own eyes and saw cold steel, sharpened to perfection. From behind him, two hands reached, trailing across his chest.

A pair of lips landed a kiss on his neck.

“You look good enough to eat.” she said.

Squall couldn’t help but smile.

“Everything ready?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She said as he went to retrieve his gunblade from its case, “Everything’s ready.”

Squall glanced at Selphie. Standing there in full uniform, her Lieutenant General epaulets gold and full, her two medals on either sides of her chest, hands clasped behind her back and shooting him a mischevious smile, she was beautiful.

His Odineum alloy gunblade, as much an extension of his arm as his hand, couldn’t even compare.

“Y’know...” Selphie said, one finger meeting her chin as she pretended to think, “...I was thinkin’ that we’d let someone else do it this time.”

“They're already out there.”

“Oh c’mon! Just hear me out, I have an idea, and it’s good.”

Squall checked his gunblade’s magazine. Full. The weapon didn’t have a safety latch as per his instructions. He stood up and weighed it, getting it to warm up.

“We can stayyyy...” Selphie said, “...and you can stay in that uniform... or get out of it... it all depends. Why not let one of the other squads go? We have enough reserves, they’re on call - they can handle it.”

Squall sighed. Something in her voice, as sexy and bright as it was, was off. Not quite there. He had been hearing it more and more these days.

“Politically sensitive.” He said.

“Your face is politically sensitive.” Selphie countered.

“Besides, they’re acting like rank amateurs. Like they’ve never been in a maneuver before. At this rate, anyone else we send will end up getting killed. I’m not going to risk it.”

Something twinkled in her eye. A muscle twitched. She pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“I know.” he said.

Squall retrieved the earpiece from his bedside. He turned it on. With a click, he tuned to the open channel. Immediately, the SeeDs in Dollet began screaming, their voices, sometimes muffled by the sounds around them, came flooding in.

Selphie’s eyes were on him, watching his every move.

“This is General Leonhart, calling all squads in Dollet. Backup is on the way. We're coming."


	2. Running Through Dollet

The inside of the hovercraft wasn’t spacious, but it wasn’t cramped either. One of their new APCs, courtesy of their tech-support treaty with Esthar. It was a sleek cutter, navy blue and bearing the SeeD insignia on the outside; and on the inside, presently, transporting a squad of four. Despite being one member short, the Gemini Squad was the most deadly force on the planet.

Under the dead, white lights of the hovercraft, their medals gleamed, marking their status.

Squall glanced at Selphie, who was too busy trying to argue with Seifer on whether tomatoes were fruits or vegetables to distract herself. She was sitting as far away from him as possible, he noted. Directly across from him was Brea. Arms folded, eyes glued to her knees. She looked contemplative.

Squall leaned back. The speakers mounted to both walls screeched.

_“ETA, two minutes, General. Get ready.”_

“I just can’t believe they couldn’t cut it. _Again._” Seifer said, checking his gunblade’s clip, “Six squads this time, and they still can’t make the fucking breach?”

“Redbands.” Selphie said with a sigh.

Seifer huffed in frustration. The redbands were cadets who wore red cloth bands around their arms to signify that they were Delingite recruits: orphans of The Third Sorceress War.

“Nobody out there has a Guardian Force. Not enough mages, either.” Selphie said.

“I’m surprised we let them go out there like that.” Seifer said.

“They’re gluttons for punishment, Seif.” Selphie said, “At least one cadet squad, in full, has pulled the No-GFs shit the last time around. That’s why this is their second field exam.”

“Whatever.” Squall said, “We’re going in. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ll have a lot to say about that.” Seifer chuckled, “They don’t like us two percenters very much.”

“Well tough shit, mister.” Selphie said, “We’re what they get.”

Selphie smiled and Squall wished she didn’t have to fake it like that.

* * *

The transport managed to clear the windbreakers that also served to keep ships or transport at bay with a lurch forward. It was only a few seconds before the Gemini Squad felt the ground underneath their feet shift incline and then slowly sink into the sand.

The ramp came down at once, and the evening light blinded them for a second. Squall reached for his comm-link, prompting the others to do the same.

“Standard formation.” Squall said.

Seifer stepped forward. Brea moved to Selphie’s side. On Squall’s prompt, they jogged down the ramp and then onto the sand.

They took the scenery as they began to run. Dead ahead, the high walls of the Dukedom stood, forming their first barrier. The walls were damaged, but only slightly – made of sterner stuff, they were keeping at least four squads at bay, each one broken up and huddled behind rock formations. The defensive batteries atop the walls, two in their case, were trained towards them, raining down bullets and eroding their found bulwarks.

Squall clocked at least three wounded, and a squad in its entirety laid scattered in the sand, dead.

Upon seeing their approach, one of the batteries turned their way. Brea spotted it, and before Squall could even order them all to find cover, she opened fire. Two of her shots landed, but not before a hail of bullets dug into the sand a mere inch before her boots.

Selphie grabbed Brea and ran, head down, to the nearest available cover, occupied presently by three members she knew to belong to different squads. Two swordfighters and a martial artist. Brea kept firing until she went empty, at which point they simply lunged towards the huddled cadets to avoid the response.

Their comm-links screeched with incoming transmission just as they put their backs to the rocks.

“_Everyone! This is the Beta Squad! We’ve managed to break through the main gates!”_

“Beta Squad, this is Lieutenant General Tilmitt,” Selphie bent down to inspect the leg wound of one of the swordfighters, a girl with pixie cut blonde hair. The shell had shattered right through the bone in her ankle. Her foot was dangling by a few strands of muscle. “, can you press the attack?”

Gunshots buzzed in the line.

_“Negative! We’re pinned down by the security turnpikes!”_

Selphie concentrated on the wound. Her hand began to glow a bright blue as she whispered, _“Curaga”_ and the girl screamed, her hand holding the handle of sword white-knuckle tight. It wouldn’t mend bone, it wouldn’t mend all of the skin, but it would heal some of the muscle damage, strengthen her leg and ease her pain.

Squall's voice buzzed in her ear.

_“Beta Squad, this is General Leonhart. What’s your squad makeup?”_

_“Standard 5. Our sharpshooter is KIA.”_

_“Do they have firearms?”_

_“Yes, sir, all of them! Fuuck, cast something, you asshole!”_

_“Hold on. We’re coming.”_

_“Yes, sir!”_

_“Brea, sitrep.”_

The battery chattered. A crescendo of howling bullets danced across the landscape.

“We’re pinned down, sir!” Brea said, “One battery is down, but the other - I can’t get a clear shot!”

_“Understood. Hold on.”_

“Yes, sir!”

_“All Squads, this is General Leonhart, reporting from the Dollet Beach. Beta Squad has broken through, but they’re held up at the main gates. The Totalists are using a CF. Adjust accordingly. Is anyone near Beta’s position?”_

_“General, this is the Kappa Squad. We are near the Communication Tower, on the foothills.” _Squall made a mental note to fail them in the logistics category,_ “Our sharpshooter is in position, but there are too many of them to engage.”_

“_Liutenant General Almasy here, what the fuck do you use your field mages for – play grab-ass in the secret area?”_

_“We don’t have any in our number, sir.”_

Seifer whistled, “Are_ you fucking kidding me!? Listen, fucker, I-”_

“Seifer,” Selphie snapped, “You’re not helping.”

“General, sir?” Brea said, “I have Quezacotl junctioned. Would you..?”

“_Ifrit is better suited.” _Squall replied.

_“Here goes. Everyone, hang onto your eyebrows.” _Seifer announced.

* * *

It wasn’t ten seconds before the majestic form of the Guardian Force tore through the beach, scattering the sands as it rose into the air. The defense battery turned to the impossible creature immediately, frantically vomiting forth .90 shells that bounced off the chest of the summon like pebbles would. The air grew thin, the moisture of the beach sucked away as the beast gathered its ball of flame, pulling its bits and pieces out of everything around them.

Those below, on the other side of the wall, saw what was coming, but kept firing, their fingers pressing on the trigger even after the clips had run empty; they fired, knowing that it was too late. 

* * *

The fireball tore right through the wall, forming a gap in between the two defensive batteries, scattering stone, masonry and the pieces of the weaponry embedded there. It continue until it found the Dollet Hotel and exploded, showering the surrounding area with molten metal, broken glass and corpses. As it leveled the building, the street and parts of the buildings around it were scorched, the flames searing the flesh of the totalists from their bones and making ash from what was left.

Everyone assembled at the beach was sweating profusely, trying to catch their breaths. The air was drier than the desert.

Squall smiled. A Concentric Formation had one very clear weakness: its main aim was to keep the enemy at arm’s length and hold the outer line. That’s why firearms were exclusive to the outer circle. However, as it did not have any other kind of strategy, when the outer line broke, the inner lines fell like dominoes. When that happened, it was either surrender or slaughter.

He didn’t care which. He had dealt with totalist factions before... that, and he absolutely hated being in Galbadia.

“This is the General. The Dollet Beach is secure. Beta Squad, we’re coming for you. Kappa Squad, your load should have lessened by now. Even if they didn’t scramble, engage, _now_. Secure the Communication Tower. Everyone else, sit tight.”

Confirmations echoed throughout the open channel.

* * *

To most of the cadets, watching the Gemini Squad, despite their quiet disdain for them, was quite an experience. None of the redbands, nor any of the others could deny that a squad made up entirely of two percenters was awe-inspiring as it was fearsome. While they did their part in backing them up, they had no illusions about having been downgraded from being the main force to being the backup to just four SeeDs.

While they begrudgingly watched the flank, the two percenters were tearing through the totalists. Outnumbered four to one, they didn’t even seem to notice.

Squall and Seifer took point, cutting a swath through groups of swordfighters that swarmed them. Seifer’s rather showy style, refining the finesse of combos into a purified art of killing, was balanced by Squall’s more practical moves that amazed with their sheer focus. Behind them, Brea was a blaze of carefully-aimed kill-shots, not a single bullet wasted on a superficial wound: her precision was matched only by her speed. Selphie, by Brea’s side, was a whirlwind, her nunchucks cutting chunks of flesh out of her opponents with every single stroke, her every move flowing into one another. Every so often, she’d use a spell or two; with the pinhead focus of a sniper, she’d use low-level spells to kill or cripple her targets, one at a time.

With them in lead and the cadets in tow, they fought their way through the city, leaving collateral damage and a river of corpses behind.

For the cadets, it was the hard push – the grind of methodical sweeping. Some, having never killed other human beings before, could feel a numbness spreading from their head down to their toes. The act of taking a life, even arguably in defense, was something they had only read about and practiced on unloving dummies. The dummies were silent and full of felt. Humans bled and screamed and thrashed about. A few cadets stumbled, but picked themselves back up. This was their field exam. For them, this was it.

For their leaders, it was a Friday evening.

* * *

Once they made their way through the city, they found the road leading up to the Duke’s mansion empty. The mansion itself loomed in the distance, standing defiant behind high, black fences. It was the second highest point in Dollet, after the Communication Tower, and had its back to the sea.

Upon approach, they found the gates reduced to pieces of metal. High-velocity explosives.

As they walked through, Selphie clicked her com-link.

“This is LG Tilmitt. We’re to the mansion. Anyone need backup?”

_“Sir, this is Gamma Squad. We’re held up on the Southern road, Imperium Street. The Totalist reserve is here. We’ll hold them off your backs.”_

Selphie clacked her tongue, “Much obliged. If you need backup, broadcast on the open channel – we do have a contingency at the mansion. LG out.” She smiled and turned to Brea. “They’re not doing so bad.” She said.

A few years ago, Brea would’ve wondered if sending them backup would be a better move. But then and there, she nodded, and said:

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

The inner courtyard of the mansion was a dead warzone. Squall cut the scene up into small pieces and analyzed it. The cadets that had made their way here had gone on ahead, trying to take the mansion grounds. Questionable, as driving someone with hostages to a corner made them unpredictable. Desperate times called for unsound measures.

Squall counted eight cadets dead, one shredded apart so badly that only the semi-metal of his uniform’s shoulder embellishments helped tell him that it was a cadet. Eight dead to their –so far- forty-six. Not bad.

Huddled in front of the mansion were a further seven. Two swordfighers, three martial artists, two unarmed – field mages, most likely. They looked tired, sitting or leaning against the walls flanking the steps. One was even smoking.

Upon spotting them, they pushed themselves back up. One of the martial artists was missing a few fingers. _Blocked a sword with the wrong side of his hand._

A girl stepped forward and gave Squall the SeeD salute. Chestnut hair, pulled into a now-disheveled ponytail. Green eyes. Dual swords in hands. A bandage around her head, hastily applied, doing nothing to stem the dramatic but harmless flow of blood from what he knew to be a bullet graze. Squall returned the salute. She said, “Sir! Senior Level Cadet, Class D-“

“Natili Sulla.” Squall said, briefly glancing at the red band on her left arm, “I know who you are.”

Selphie and Brea exchanged glances. So this was _her..?_

“They’re holding the Duke and his family in the conference room.” Natili said after straightening up, “Since it was also built as a shelter, we have one way in, and no other way to force it without endangering his life. I tried to talk to them earlier, but-“

“They wouldn’t respond to you.” Squall said, “You’re just a cadet. You have no authority. That’s why I’m here.”

Their comm-links buzzed to life.

_“This is the Kappa Squad, do you copy?”_

Squall took lead, “This is the General. Go on.”

_“The Communications Tower is secure, sir.”_

“Is there a broadcast?"

"_Yes, sir."_

"Good. Stay on the line. On my mark, cut the broadcast. Not one second before or after, do you understand?”

_“Yes, sir. Standing by.”_

Squall turned to Seifer, Selphie and Brea. He noticed that the cadets around them, all of them worn out by the effort it had taken them to get there, were looking at him for their orders... while some were glaring at the others.

What was it he saw? Disdain? Admiration? Respect? Ill will?

But there was no time to dwell.

“Sulla, where’s your squad?” Squall asked.

Natili’s gaze hit the ground.

“Give me a fucking break.” Seifer said, “Let me guess. Three mages, a martial artist, and you.”

Natili’s eyes shot up too fast to hide the fact that her Lieutenant General had hit the nail on the head.

“Typical.” Seifer spat, “Swordfighter. Hm. You were the commander, yeah?”

“Shut up, Seifer.” Squall said, “Not the time.”

In that moment, Squall’s mind recalled a dozen incidents. Squads with sole survivors, led by Delingite orphans, who generally didn’t know the first thing about commanding mages. The product of the new generation of cadets’ habit of switching squad members around after they had been set.

The comm-links shrieked.

_“Sir! Kappa Squad here, we-”_

“Jeez, don’t shout!” Selphie said, “This is LG Tilmitt, what is it?”

_“The Totalists have demanded the General and his high-ranking officers to enter the palace, unarmed, in five minutes, or they will execute the Duke!”_

“That settles it.” Squall said, “Hang tight, Kappa. Like I said, wait for my mark.”

_“Yes, sir!”_

* * *

Squall turned to the squads.

“Do a headcount. Equal division, standard squads. _Standard_. Guard the entrances. If anyone that isn’t us ever comes out, kill on sight. In the unlikely event that it _is_ one of us and we have been taken hostage, attack anyway. Understood?”

A resounding affirmation. 

* * *

The arched front gates of the Duke’s Mansion were rosewood, inlaid with golden ornamentation, mostly religious imagery belonging to the Holy Dollet Empire. Vascaroon denouncing the hollow skin of Hyne in the presence of King Zebalga, declaring it worthless. The old parable about idol worship, and supposedly, the late Dr. Odine’s inspiration for para-magic. The pale, stone walls rising around the door showed that the mansion had two floors. The conference room, they knew, was on the second floor, the far side of the mansion. No clear line of sight from the land side, impossible to assault from the sea. The room they had stood in many times had no windows, and only one, heavily-armored door.

“I call bullshit.” Selphie said, “We’re not going in unarmed.”

“I’m with the messenger girl on this one.” Seifer said.

Selphie cringed, “Seifer, are you ever gonna let that go?”

“That the mighty LG was once a cadet who tripped over her own shoes? Not in your life.” Seifer grinned.

“What’s your plan, sir?” Brea asked.

“We go in.” Squall replied, his eyes distant, “We kill them all. No survivors.”

“Love,” Selphie’s hand trailed across his close-cropped hair, “Hey.”

Squall turned to look at her and found nothing but concern looking back at him.

“We don’t have to.” She said.

Brea watched him closely. She had seen that look before. She had first seen it, she remembered, once they’d made landfall during the Second Deling Offensive. Whatever else, the thought behind that look was why the name Squall Leonhart didn’t command as much respect as it did fear.

“I know.” Squall said.

* * *

Seifer knocked on the door. They waited. No answer. This told them that whoever wasn’t on Imperium Street was in the conference room. Selphie rewound, steadied herself and then kicked the heavy doors open. They opened slowly, ruining the epic sight it would’ve been if they had just swung open like she wanted them to, revealing the interior of the mansion. Varnished stone walls, resembling marble, rose around them when they walked in. Thin strips of carpeting, barely a full step wide, went in several directions, room to room. Paintings and sculptures, one of which was now a pile of shards on the floor, reminded them that the mansion was a piece of Dollet’s history.

It all seemed untouched, but Brea’s keen eyes caught small details. Upturned corner of a carpet. A painting slightly off-kilter. Scuff marks on the railing of the spiral staircase to their right.

“I’ll take point.” Squall said.

They followed him up the stairs. At the top, directly ahead of them was another hallway, its walls adorned with nothing but flags of the Dollet Dukedom, now in shreds, facing one another. At the end of the hallway were double doors, as ornate as the ones below.

There were also two sharpshooters in standard Galbadian military fatigues, standing guard with dual-drum machine guns in their hands. They took aim at once. The Gemini Squad stopped.

“Weapons down!” one of them said, “Do it now!”

Squall tossed his gunblade. Seifer, Selphie and Brea followed suit.

“I call bullshit.” Selphie whispered.

“I know.” Squall said, “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not.”

“Hands up!” the other one instructed. They followed suit. One of them dug up an old walkie-talkie. Squall could almost smile. “The General’s here.”

The double doors opened, and one of the guards escorted them in.

* * *

The setting was as familiar to each of them as their own bedrooms. Antique study desk facing the doors. Five cameras fanning out in a semi-circle in front of it. Microphone and small, Esthar-tech teleprompter on the desk. A golden plaque on the desk, sitting on green velvet: “The Duke of Dollet” to inform those who did not know.

Presently, the Dollet Duke, an old, yet very graceful man with a heavily-lined face and a gray but magnificent cleft, staring at a piece of paper in front of him. Straight-backed and dignified, he was a direct contrast with the totalist who had a handgun to his head.

Upon entering the room with their hands up, the SeeDs did a headcount. Two operating the cameras on the leftmost and rightmost of the circle, presently turned towards them. On the right corner of the room, the Duke’s wife, every bit as defiant as her husband, clutching the hand of her daughter. Her salmon pencil skirt suit was stained with blood. Squall noted that her nose was broken.

Seifer clenched her teeth at the sound of the Duke’s daughter trying to cry as quietly as possible.

Seven more totalists in the room, excluding the guard, who, upon delivering them, went out and closed the door behind him. All of them armed with rifles, one with a shotgun, three with bolt-actions, and the remaining for with pistols – these last ones, Squall and Seifer, were paired with the others, and the swords hanging from their belts told them why. This time, Squall did smile. They were actually good.

The totalist leader was wearing a ceremonial uniform. It lacked medals, its epaulets were empty, and by Brea’s estimates, it was one size too big. Stolen. Selphie noted his white gloves, with the Galbadian flag symbol embroidered in golden threads. She made a note not to forget to take those. With some tailoring, they’d make a neat pair for her.

“Ladies and gentlemen," he spoke with a bass voice, "Joining us now is General Leonhart and his elite squad of two percenters!” the leader announced to the center camera, “Smile, General.”

Squall nodded. He surveyed the room again. Ten in total. He clenched his teeth. Too confined a space, too many, and all armed with firearms... martial arts couldn’t save them. Magic could. It would all depend on which was faster – him when enhanced through para-magic, or a trigger finger.

Squall found that he had no choice but to find out.

“Now that you’re here, I think the final act can begin.” The leader said.

“Which is?” Squall asked.

“Simple, really. The world will watch as the Dollet Duke signs away the independence of his little mizer quote-unquote _empire_, with you and yours doing nothing to stop it.”

“That’s a bit _bullshit_, don’t you think?” Selphie said.

The first signal. The next was in Squall’s hands.

“Mind if I take off my jacket?” Squall asked, “There are no windows, and you _have _been here a while.”

The leader raised an eyebrow. But then again, he figured that the bastard would look less regal without the fancy uniform, so he gave the SeeD General the go-ahead.

Squall unbuttoned his jacket slowly. Behind him, he heard Seifer and Brea do the same. They threw their jackets onto the floor.

“Now, my Duke,” the leader said, turning his attention to where his gun was pointing at, “Will you please take your fountain pen and sign this declaration?”

The Duke was looking at Squall. Squall took a deep breath.

“He won’t. There’s a legal obstacle.” Squall said.

The leader cocked his head sideways. What?

“Kappa.” Squall said.

* * *

It took the small, red lights on the cameras five seconds to turn green, announcing that the broadcast signal had been cut off. That was Selphie’s go signal to double-cast: LVL4 Fast for the others, Protect for herself.

In Squall, Seifer and Brea’s perception, the world slowed to a crippled crawl. The leader’s lips were moving, but they were moving at such a speed that he seemed to be standing still.

Sefier and Brea took their respective directions, left and right. Seifer reached down to pull out the dagger he kept inside his boot. Brea retrieved her small, .22 caliber handgun from her back. She took aim, carefully sending five bullets into the heads of the totalists. Seifer’s work was a little slower – he took time piercing through the jugular veins of his remaining four.

Squall crossed the distance and leapt over the desk. He positioned himself between the leader’s gun and the Duke. With one hand, he grabbed the leader’s wrist. His other hand cradled the leader’s elbow. He adjusted his legs slightly to get into the right position.

“_Dispel.”_

* * *

Had the broadcast not been cut, it would’ve shown four totalists suddenly developing crippling neck wounds – their blood rushing out at an impressive speed, bleeding them out. At the same time, the five others assembled would have seemed to have just fallen like marionettes whose strings had been cut... bleeding all over the floor.

The guards outside the room came in then, swords drawn and at the ready. Seifer took one down with a dodge that he followed by a swift stab at his throat. Brea wasted only one bullet. Never bring a sword to a gunfight.

Squall moved, and with his move, broke the leader’s arm at his elbow, causing the bone to pierce through his skin. His hand that held the gun, however, clamped and he fired a single shot. Ignoring his ringing ears, Squall spun around and slammed his elbow into his enemy’s gut, hitting just the right place to cause him to double over, despite a valiant effort not to. He tried to throw a weak fist, which Squall blocked, and he used the opening to slam his knee into his crotch. Squall shifted, grabbed the Leader by the back of his head and withdrew him.

“Squall!” Selphie’s voice.

Not now.

Squall slammed his head onto the table, waiting for the split second for him to open his mouth, at which point, he crashed his elbow onto the back of his head. His spine dislocated. His body sprang and laid still.

“_Curaga.”_

The blue glow of the curing spell caught Squall’s attention.

Selphie’s voice, urgent, trembling.

“Shit, shit, _shit! _This is LG Tilmitt, any field medics, get the fuck up here, _now!”_

_A single shot, _Squall thought_._

“Ah, fuck me... _fuck _me!” Seifer’s voice.

“Sir? Sir!? General!?” Brea’s voice.

_No..._

“_Curaga. _Oh come on, you piece of shit, don’t do this to me! _Curaga! Curaga! Come on! Come the fuck on!”_


	3. The Loser

Selphie felt just like a young cadet again. She felt like she was enveloped in the blistering cold of the Trabian mountains, far from the lukewarm norm of the orphanage, standing in her cadet uniform, ready to learn. At eight years of age, she was going to learn how to handle a gunshot wound. Her hands, always small (even now), were agile but unskilled then. She had cried for the dummy that had bled out the fatal amount of redberry juice - cried for her inability to save him.

Standing above the Duke of Dollet, who had slumped over in his chair, blood rushing through the gaps between her fingers, Selphie was in that room again. Seifer was untangling her uniform’s tie as she screamed into the earpiece, asking where the fuck other field medics were.

Her sleeves were soaked. The duke was gurgling, choking, spasming as his artery gushed out blood, painting Selphie’s face. Brea, thinking it better not to crowd the procedure, was checking the Totalists to see if any had survived. Her General’s orders had been clear: no survivors.

Seifer, even as he tried to do what Selphie told him to do, couldn’t help but notice that the messenger girl was shaking like a leaf where she stood. Her hands trying to press on the wound were shaking, her fingers that tried to tie a knot were clumsy. He had seen her in many states, but he didn’t quite remember seeing her actually freaked out before.

“It’s no use!” Selphie shrieked, and Seifer saw tears running down her cheeks, drawing lines in the blood, “There’s nothing I can do! _There’s fucking nothing!”_

Seifer turned to Squall and saw that he was no longer there. 

* * *

Brea didn’t know how to feel about having to escort the Duke’s family out of the room and into the nearest suitable one (a luxurious bathroom with ceramic tiles and golden surfaces) at gunpoint. She figured that this was one of the things that she would think of as something she had to do in order to carry out her mission.

Part of her wondered if it was worth it now. She could hear the children crying, their mother trying to stifle her screams just enough to say something to soothe them, to take away their pain, even when hers was palpable. Weren’t they entitled to their pain?

Brea shut it out and returned to the panic room to see that perhaps, they all were.

* * *

Fresh air filling his lungs reminded Squall that oxygen had been scarce in that panic room. The smell of fresh grass, gunpowder, sweat and gun metal reminded him that there was ground under his feet.

He stabbed his gunblade into the ground.

Around him, the cadets and SeeDs slowly rose from where they were sitting. They exchanged curious glances, wondering why their General was just standing there, saying nothing, doing nothing.

Natili took a cautious step forward. When Squall didn’t react, she gestured for what was now her squad to follow her inside. They brushed past him and disappeared into the mansion. Some of the others followed as well. A cadet, a young, slender man with an Exeter seemingly too large for him, decided to address Squall.

“S-sir..?” he stammered.

“...there are no field medics here, is there?” Squall asked.

The cadet shook his head.

“Get the hell out of my sight. You just failed your field exam. Return to the beach, all of you.”

Neither the cadet nor his comrades hesitated to comply.

Squall clicked his earpiece to open the Garden channel. Quistis’ voice came through.

_“Finally, I thought you had decided to settle down over here! Report.”_

There was a lump in his throat. He remembered the feeling. Suddenly, standing in front of the Dollet Duke’s mansion, he was back in that nightmare, watching Selphie die a million deaths – all because of his weakness.

“We failed.” He managed, “That’s all.”

With another click, he switched the channel back.

“All squads, this is the General.” He stopped to check his watch, which showed him a green 19:13, “Separate into even squads of standard makeup. Do a final sweep, and then regroup at the beach at 22:00 hours. If you’re late, consider yourselves discharged.”

He took the earpiece off and slipped it into his pocket.

* * *

“Sir...” Brea reached out and gently put one hand on Selphie’s shoulder, “Sir, please...”

Selphie seemed deaf to her. Her breathing was ragged and through the mouth. She was trembling under her touch, one hand still on the wound that had run dry a few minutes ago. She leaned over and saw her dead eyes, pinhead pupils seeing nothing. Seeing her, she was a cadet again, hugging her knees as the Ocean Garden fell apart around her.

_Spell out your name._

Seifer had already stepped out. It was just them, the bodies of their enemies and the dead Duke.

“Sir, he’s gone.” Brea managed to say, “You’ve done everything you could.”

Selphie clenched her teeth. She was shaking, yes, but now, it was out of anger. Brea withdrew her hand and took a cautious step back. Instinct made her place one hand on one of her pistols. When Selphie screamed her frustration, Brea heard the undertone of sorrow. She banged her fists on the Duke’s desk, scattering bloodstained papers, the sounds of her anger echoing in the panic room. Selphie pounded on the table and kept pounding until, as Brea was waiting for, she wore herself out and had to lean on it for support.

They were silent for a few moments. Then, Selphie wiped her eyes with her uniform’s sleeve and took a deep breath. She looked up. She noticed that she was alone with Brea.

“Sir?” Brea asked gently.

“I’m fine.” Selphie said, forcing a smile, “I’m alright. Where’re the others?”

_And where the fuck is my husband, who’s supposed to be in charge of this shit?_

“Downstairs, I think, sir.” Brea said.

“Did Squall say something?”

“He gave the final orders, sir. They’re to report to the beach at 22:00 hours for extraction. I don’t think that applies to us, sir.”

“Perks of being a two percenter.” Selphie let out a strained chuckle, “Alright.” She fought the urge to look at the Duke _(don’t look at him, don’t, just look at something else, anything else)_ “Let’s go, Brea.”

“Sir...”

“What?”

“The Duke’s family. I... locked them in the bathroom, sir.”

Selphie glanced at the heavy, wooden door.

“Unlock it.” She said, “Then come with me. I can’t face them right now.”

“If you’d like, sir, I can do that for you.”

“I’m not ordering you to.” Selphie said, “It’s your call.”

Selphie left Brea behind and kept on walking.

* * *

Quistis leaned forward and put her head between her hands, her elbows causing shallow cracks to issue from the communication console. Her clenched fist was awkward in this position. She felt its presence more keenly in these moments. Over the years, it had become normal. Carrying a cane around had become normal. Her walking degrading further every year had become normal. She knew how to do most things with her good hand, some of which she forced the other one to do when she was in her suite. This, too, was normal for her.

The feeling in her gut wasn’t. Suddenly, she was years ago and in the secret area, telling Squall about how she lacked leadership qualities. Failure as an instructor, and at the time, seeing his reaction, failure as a woman, as a friend.

“Sir...” Ira, her subordinate in field exams called, with a voice like silk, “...are you alright?”

She remembered that Ira was just 19. 13 years her junior.

Quistis lifted her head and leaned back, letting out a deep sigh. She glared at the ceiling. In the mesh pattern covering it, she saw everything since the First Deling Offensive playing out like a movie stuck on fast-forward. The Second Offensive. The Reconstruction. The Unifier Clean-Ups. Three Centra Sweeps. Two Lunar Cries. She had seen three Sorceress Wars, and in as many years as Ira was her junior, she had seen and assisted in victory after victory after victory after victory.

Then had come the redbands. The Delingite orphans, all wearing the same red band around their left arm, just like Ira did, to commemorate their loss. When Quistis glanced over her shoulder to meet the concerned eyes of her subordinate, she had a moment of clarity.

“Yes, Ira.” She said, “Yes, I’m alright. We’re pretty much done anyway, I can coordinate the extraction. You should go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

* * *

When Selphie found Squall, right where he had been standing for Hyne knew how long, he didn’t know what hit him for the one-tenth of a second. The blunt jab of her wedding ring told him he had just been punched in the face by his wife.

“You _asshole!”_ Selphie shouted, followed by another punch.

Squall caught her wrist just short of his face before she could land her next blow. He pushed her hand away.

“Look at me!” she shouted.

He didn’t want to. He did. Sorrow. Anger. Shock. Rage. Fury.

“What the fuck was that!?” she demanded.

Squall could only stare.

“Don’t give me the brick wall bullshit, Squall, answer me! What the fuck was that in there!?”

“Selphie, I...”

“You _left_ me in there! You just fucked off! I was just standing there like a fucking idiot, blood,” she demonstrated her hands, “, on my hands, trying to do something, anything, and you just walked out on me, on _us!”_

“There was nothing I coul-“

“Fuck you.” Selphie said, her voice full of venom, “No, fuck you. There was nothing _I _could do.” She stared at her hands, “There was nothing. Not you. _Me. _You just couldn’t be bothered.” _And you left me standing there like none of it meant anything to you._

“I didn’t know what else to d-“ Squall started, but Selphie’s index finger prodding his chest stopped him short.

“Fuck you.” Selphie said, “Get it? I’m done listening to you.” She chuckled resentfully, “Brea’s in there trying to do your job for you. Your aide is doing your job _for_ you, get it? So here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go back in there, you’re gonna sit the Duke’s family down, and you’re gonna explain everything to them. The hovercraft will wait for you, I’ll make sure of that.”

Squall nodded.

“Good.”

Selphie turned and stormed off, her steps shaky and uneven. Squall looked down to the ground. He took a moment, and decided that taking a moment wasn’t worth it. He retrieved his gunblade and went back into the mansion to carry out his orders.

* * *

Brea likened the cadets assembled on the beach to the waiting line for a guillotine. She could see that they were utterly spent – hastily-bandaged wounds, torn uniforms, dust in their faces, their postures slouched and their eyes dead. The entire operation had taken three hours, but those three hours had taken it out of them.

Some were still holding their weapons. Some had put them down. All of them wore red bands on their arms and all of them stiffened up when they saw her General approaching.

The SeeDs meant to supervise the exam, standing behind them, some of them even veterans of the Third War, were much the same.

Over the years, Brea had had time to learn Squall Leonhart. Her job as his aide and her special rank of Major General called for it. She knew when to do what, and on a battlefield, she always had his back. He had never thanked her for it, but she had never asked him to. To her, being by his side was belonging – the only home she had known since a sorceress possessed had taken Trabia from her.

Now, as Squall marched onto the beach, his face lit up by the spotlights of the amphibious transports, Brea knew what she had to do: sit back, keep one hand on her pistol and be ready for anything.

Once he was where he wanted to be, Squall took the cadets in. The sobs of the Duke’s wife were still ringing in his ears.

“Squad leaders. Step up.” Squall said.

Curious glances traveled through the cadets like a wave.

“I said, step up. _Now._”

Six cadets stepped forward, exchanging glances. They dragged their feet through the sand, uncertain as to why they were asked to come closer.

“You are all under arrest.” Squall said. He cocked his head towards the SeeDs that were standing by the transports: six of them, one per team. They moved forward without hesitation.

“On what charge?” Natili Sulla asked as her handler approached her, handcuffs in hand.

Squall didn’t respond.

“The Garden Law says that you have to press a charge to arrest anyone!” she said, this time with more force.

“Fine. Article 2-B, Section 3,” Squall said, “Standard squad makeup. You switched it around. Guilty. Also, 1-G, Section 4: you therefore disobeyed an implicit direct order. Guilty. Article 3-A, Section 1: dereliction of duty.” The SeeDs rudely grabbed hold of all six, whom appeared to be so shocked that they didn’t resist, “You had three field mages in your squad, Sulla. As a result of changing the squad makeup, you rendered yourself incapable of commanding the squad. Guilty and guilty by extension. The six of you will be confined to the brig until further notice. Take them away.”

“This isn’t fair!” Natilli protested, “We didn’t screw up in there, we didn’t-“

Squall’s glare silenced her. She bit her tongue and tried to match her steps to those of the SeeD taking dragging her towards the furthest amphibious transport.

“As for the rest of you,” Squall said, “Get the fuck out of my sight.” 

* * *

The hum of the hovercraft was more pronounced in the absence of any conversation, and despite his efforts to start something just for the fuck of it, Seifer had to admit that he probably viewed it differently than they did. Oh sure, the last 13 years, give or take, had been a string of victories for him. Making cadet again, making SeeD, finding Quistis, marrying Quistis, working out a way to fit a ring onto her damaged hand, and all the rest. But he had never forgotten his failures. His first turn at SeeD, the entire Ultimecia affair, the aftermath... he had always carried each of them with him wherever he went.

Not being one for heart-to-heart bullshit, he nevertheless felt the need to speak up in that moment, if only to disturb the infernal humming.

“Alright, I’ll say it first.” He said, “We failed.”

All eyes were on him in an instant. Seifer shrugged.

“What, did you really think it wasn’t going to happen someday, some way? Look at the three of you. We fuck up one mission out of Hyne knows how many, and you’re all broken. You’re pathetic.”

“Seifer...” Squall snarled, but Seifer wasn’t intimidated at all.

“Oh don’t start, General Walk-Out.” He spat, grinning, “Did you seriously think that as we went on, nothing bad was going to happen? That we were invincible? Unstoppable? We’re not chumps, I’ll give you that, but to think we wouldn’t fuck up _somewhere_ is just too arrogant... even for you, Squall.”

“It’s not that.” Squall said, “It’s not that at all.”

“Well, then, I’m all ears.” Selphie snapped.

“Whatever.”

They were silent for the rest of the trip.

* * *

The hangar’s droning surrounded them the minute they stepped off the hovercraft. Selphie walked off without a word and without looking back. Brea lingered, but Squall dismissed her quickly, so she saluted him and sauntered after Selphie. Seifer took one step forward, only to stop when he felt Squall’s hand on his shoulder.

“A word.” Squall said.

Seifer raised an eyebrow.

“Something’s been bothering me.” Squall said.

“Putting it fucking mildly.”

“The Totalists wanted me there. They wanted _me_. They asked for me.”

“So?”

“So, if they wanted to negotiate, they could’ve done with any of the SeeDs there. Why call me?”

Seifer thought about it. “’cause if it went south like it did, it’d be your fault.”

Seifer took a moment to let his own words sink in.

“Wait, you’re-“

“Yeah.” Squall said, “Something’s not right. Which is why I need a favor.”

“Name it.”

“Field Marshal Kole will want a word. Which means somebody has to go to Deling, tonight.”

Seifer sighed. “Oh, you’ll owe me for this.”

“I said a favor, didn’t I?”

Seifer grinned. "It's gonna cost you."

“In any case,” Squall said, “When you’re there, I want you to go through the pipeline. Do what you have to do. I’m giving you a _carte blanché _on this.”

“Well that’s good, ‘cause I sure as shit am not gonna pay for the grease out of my own pocket.”

“Just don’t kill or cripple anyone.”

“Don’t worry.” Seifer ran a hand through his hair, “Well, might as well ring Quistis.”

“Duty calls.” Squall said and, sticking his hands in his pants’ pockets, walked away.


	4. Jailed

Squall walked without hurry, knowing that the hovercraft was much faster than the transports issued to the cadets and taking solace in that fact. It was past curfew for most, and Squall saw Garden Faculty all aligned in their respective places, guarding the bridges to the main dais. The pleasant lights surrounding the central area did little to soothe him, however, neither did the fresh, damp ocean air.

The Duke’s death was stuck in his head, playing over and over again. He had been reassessing his every move ever since he had left that room, calculating in every way he possibly could how he could’ve let it happen. It was supposed to be a simple test that the redbands, apparently, couldn’t hack. For him, it had been nothing - just another field exam.

As Squall approached the door of his suite, he found that all he wanted was to sleep and to forget. Sliding his keycard through the slot told him why.

* * *

Squall found Selphie on the couch he was once all too familiar with, with a glass he knew he had used a hundred times before. She had taken off her jacket, he saw. She was sitting there with the white regulation undershirt, her bare feet on the coffee table, her boots and socks in four different places in the room. Squall spied a bottle of lemon-flavored iced tea – her poison of choice ever since Esthar. She burned off the sugar in record time, and it didn’t send her down the spiral.

Squall took off his jacket as well and sat down beside her. She drank. He didn’t talk. The ticking of the Moogle wall clock kept them company.

Squall remembered a question. He felt that it was time for him to ask it. “What’s on your mind?”

The glass froze on the way to her lips. She put it down.

“I’ve failed before.” Selphie said, the mask she usually kept on splintering in an instant, “I’ve fucked up before. And all of them hurt. All of them made me feel different kinds of useless or... I dunno, worthless?”

She knocked the glass back and set it on the coffee table. She gave it a little nudge with her big toe.

“And I looked to you for help.” She said, “And you weren’t there. Like none of it meant shit to you now that the mission was over. You just... left me there.”

Squall clenched his fist. Selphie noticed.

“I failed.” Squall said, “Not you. For the first time in I don’t even remember how long, _I_ failed. I looked at you, trying to stem the bleeding, and I saw you dead on the floor. It all came back...”

“Squall, it was years ago...” Selphie said, her face morphing into an expression of concern.

“And now, there’s going to be hell to pay for it.” Squall stood up and took his jacket, “I’m going to sleep.”

“Hell to pay?”

“The Duke’s death is on our heads. With all the flak we’ve been taking because of the redbands’ last two failed exams, this is going to be, as my father would put it, a shitstorm. And I’m the General. It’s on me.”

Squall walked away. Selphie got up and caught him in the doorway of their bedroom. She wrapped her arms around him, pulled him closer. Squall reciprocated the best he could, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Selphie noticed, but didn’t press it.

“Worry about it in the morning.” She said.

“If only I could.” 

* * *

Natili Sulla was roughly shoved into the elevator. Immediately, the protests of the other cadets under arrest rose, but unlike them she didn’t say or do anything. The two SeeDs that were the intermediary guard got in next to her. One of them reached into her pocket to retrieve her access card, and she slid it through the slot in the panel. She pressed -3.

The elevator doors closed with a hiss, and they began to descend. Natili knew that the elevator was big enough to take at least one more cadet and his or her guard, but it was, as with other things, Garden policy to transport cadets or SeeDs under arrest one at a time. If the numbers were small enough, and six certainly was, they would be scattered across the brig – that way, neither would know where the others were, and so they wouldn't be able to coordinate anything.

The brig’s layout was a cruciform. The elevator shaft went through the far end of the center. The central area was simply four identical stations, housing an elevator, a monitor on a desk, and wide, metal lockers by the desks. Any SeeD of any rank could be put on guard duty when someone had to be held there, but otherwise, it’d be empty, as it currently was.

The SeeDs dragged Brea to a nearby desk. One of them pulled out his gun. The one with the keycard slid it through the slot on the locker to open it. The one with the gun undid one of her cuffs.

“Strip.” The one behind her said, “Jacket, boots, belt, jewelry. Turn all your pockets inside out.”

Natili complied. As soon as she was done doing so, she was cuffed again. The woman took everything one by one and neatly arranged them before putting them up on a shelf in the locker.

“Personal effects?” she asked.

Natili could barely hold back a smile. As per the drill.

“There’s a notebook in my jacket pocket. Small one. I’d like that.”

The woman dug into her jacket and pulled it out. It was a clean leather-bound, held closed by a small, ornate flip-lock.

“You’re not allowed a pencil or a pen.” She stated.

“It’s my diary.” Natili said, “I like keeping it close.”

The woman slid it into her jacket’s side pocket before walking over and giving her a through pat-down. Once Natili was deemed clean, the SeeD with the gun took her notebook and then escorted her down the length of one of the corridors. Flanked on both sides by 6-by-8 cells, Natili walked on, feeling the smooth surface of the metal underneath her socked feet. Her guard stopped by a random cell. He opened it, undid her cuffs and prodded her inside. The adamantine-alloy bars slid shut with a clang. The SeeD holstered his gun and walked away.

The cell, illuminated by fluorescent lamps overhead, was modeled after Galbadian prison cells. There was a cot on the right wall, with comforter, pillow and blanket. The left corner was occupied by the toilet bowl, which stood next to a sink. The space left in the left wall was reserved for a desk, which was just a metal slab jutting out of the arconcrete wall, and a plastic chair.

Natili looked around to see if there was a night light for the cot. To her delight, there was, in the form of a firm, black cord with a bell end. Natili sat down on the bed. She turned on the light before proceeding to take off her pants and socks. She slid under the blanket, knowing that the cells were kept below room temperature.

She flipped open the lock on the notebook.

“Alone at last...” she said.

_Show some respect, _she told herself, _a good man died for this._

Slowly, very slowly, she opened it and turned to the first page. The handwriting was beautiful: a perfectly thin, well-proportioned cursive that added small curves to jutting lines, all inclined to the right. She had only seen this kind of writing in one of Ira’s calligraphy books.

_A good man indeed, but he died for a good cause._

She smiled and began to read.

_Year 18 A.A., September 4_

Natili raised an eyebrow. 18 After Adel, which was also considered to be The Year of the Sorceress, the Second Sorceress War; and September 4 was just a few weeks before the Dollet field exam that had made the Fated Children, all but two, SeeDs.

Her curiosity piqued, she read on.

* * *

_Vinzer Deling has always been a fool. His support of Fury Caraway's occupation of Timber and continued insistence, which has no doubt been supplemented by Caraway’s advice, has always been a sore spot for the nation of Galbadia. It is a memento of the Sorceress War, and why he insists on holding one of the most robust city-states in the continent is beyond me._

_However, his foolishness has taken on a new dimension. Earlier today, I received a phone call from his aide, who informed me that he was in the Dukedom, unannounced and waiting for me. The Seven Cards bar is hardly appropriate for such an engagement, but I would not have it said that the Duke of Dollet is too proud to indulge an esteemed guest. Thus, I proceeded to the bar without delay, and with a guard detachment of only four._

_Our exchange was to the point and bereft entirely of pleasantries. To be blunt: he asked us to begin the final tests of the Communication Tower. His reasoning was that Adel’s Seal, which had been running a constant interference, could be bypassed if a separate frequency could be calibrated. He claimed that the esteemed and maligned Dr. Odine had provided him with the necessary assets to do so._

_I had to remind him, of course, that such an act would violate Dollet’s non-interference treaty with the Galbadian Government, a document that carries both our signatures. I would, however, consider it; provided that he passed onto me the research._

_Here, I must say that I have known Vinzer Deling to be inappropriate at times; cheeky, even. But the smile he presented was nothing short of disturbing. It was the grin of a Death Claw - a baring of the teeth. What he said was what I took as an indication of events that would follow:_

_“My benefactor believes, and I agree, that since the Communication Tower becoming operational again would benefit not just Dollet but the world at large. So the treaty is of no great concern.”_

_At first I though he was talking about Fury Caraway when he said "benefactor." However, I have gotten to know Fury Caraway’s conduct over the years, and he is a soldier, through and through. He understands that such a violation is an act of war._

_I asked him who his benefactor was. He did not answer. I then did the only thing I could do: inform him once again that my conditions were absolute, and that I would consider any violation or workaround to be an act of war, as per our agreement._

_He slipped then. He said: “She won’t be happy about that.”_

_So, it was a woman. A suitor perhaps, playing at being an advisor. Seeing Vinzer Deling’s insatiable lust for power and urging him on with praise is not a very enlightened tactic, but she, whoever she is, seemed to have blinded him, if his sudden change of demeanor is any indication. He seemed blissfully unaware that what he had just uttered made him look like he was her emissary, not the President of Galbadia._

_I chose to say my parting words and to leave the premises as soon as possible:_

_“Her happiness, Mister President, is not my concern.”_

_I have given the order to mobilize troops and begin drills immediately. I do not know when he will strike, but my experience tells me that he is on the warpath, and came today knowing full well that I would not agree to his proposal._

_I have not yet called Cid Kramer but unfortunately, it seems highly likely that I might._

* * *

Quistis had had many nights by herself in the suite she shared with her husband. In fact, before she had met him once more, maybe for the first time the second time around, she had often wondered what she would do in a suite. Squall had Rinoa, Selphie had Irvine, Zell had Darina and she... well, she was the odd one out. Reinstated as an Instructor. Quistis had felt, until the Garden Atrocity, that it was not her own qualities that had earned her the title again. She hadn’t exhibited any leadership qualities, save for the Missile Base, which had been a near failure in and of itself.

Her self-doubt had been erased with the Atrocity, and everything that had come after that.

Quistis preferred an oversized t-shirt to a nightgown, except for some nights when she wasn’t alone. It was easier to put on, didn’t get tangled up between her legs when she walked around. It was one of the many small adjustments she had made in her life, like keeping her uniform jacket buttoned up, save for the upper three buttons that she could now do with one hand and with relative ease.

Quistis leaned back on the couch. The standard-issue coffee table was a mess. There was a map of Dollet occupying half of it, red lines marking the movements of their squads. The rest of the space was reserved for print-outs of communications logs. She had separated them into two neat piles, one for the squads’ transmissions amongst themselves, and one for the open channel. The transcripts were generated automatically by their consoles, identifying senders by frequency, a six-digit number followed by a dash and a letter.

_“I need to check out the pipeline.”_

Seifer’s explanation as to why he wasn’t coming home that night was what had prompted her. The pipeline was a term she had come up with – they had developed various connections, never strictly legal, during the Reconstruction. Squall had turned them into an informant network by putting pressure on them, threatening to persecute them and implicate their love ones, or so their Chicobos thought. In reality, he had involved the Galbadian government to let SeeD gather intel without interference.

_This is strange._

Quistis went through some of the logs again, and checked the map.

_Based on intel, we know the Totalists were using a concentric formation. Then how in the name of Hyne did Alpha Squad make it all the way to Ferrum Street? When did Gamma Squad get to Imperium Street, and how did they manage to breach it from the other side, when Kappa Squad wouldn’t move in on the Communication Tower?_

She checked the map again, moving through Dollet with the tip of her finger.

_And Delta and Theta Squads... wait, who was on Delta?_

Quistis returned to the names.

“Huh.” She said.

_Squad Commander: Natili Sulla._

Quistis’ brow furrowed. She put the pages she was holding down and crossed her arms.

_Four squads went right through the Totalists... it should’ve broken their formation. Why didn’t it? What am I missing?_

Another question leapt out at her, but she knew that it was coming.

_What’s going on?_


	5. Find Your Way

Seifer’s red-eye transport had left him spent, but not so spent that he wouldn’t just reach for the medicine cabinet, pop some Estharian, military-grade melatonin supplement, and go on a late-night bar crawl in Deling. 

His bar crawling style was vastly different than the norm. It involved no booze. No money would be spent if he could help it. No, what it entailed was simple: one jaw cracked per bar. It would be easy, he mused, as since the Reconstruction, Deling city had developed a habit of maintaining a large number of dive bars full of borderline and over-the-line alcoholics, some of whom he was acquainted with.

The damp night air, resembling that of the Garden all around him, the comfort of civilian clothes (jeans, sneakers, a t-shirt, a jacket made out of his old trench coat), the strangely energizing feeling of Zell’s old knuckle dusters around his hands, a switchblade in his jacket pocket, Seifer felt absolutely alive. The red brick buildings, their exterior covered in dust and mud that he remembered helping build during the Reconstruction surrounded him. Every once in a while, he’d run into a drunkard, either puking his guts out, or trying to stumble his way through.

What was now called the Remnant quarter of Deling was essentially damaged, but only halfway repaired buildings that had escaped the impact of the Second Deling Offensive. It had been the new President’s idea to convert these places into some sort of entertainment quarter, full of bars and speakeasies, to let Deling flourish in a different way. What they had gotten was a nice backdrop for anyone wanting to run a racket in the city. Seifer was reminded of how Timber groups used to do the same thing; only they wanted revolution. Seifer passed by many of these places. Different genres of music followed him, different scents and different combinations of alcohol enticed him. But he was neither hungry nor thirsty – tonight, he was well fed and well watered. Full and itching for a fight.

Seifer didn’t know why, and didn’t much care to know, but he felt right in his element. Something inside him, despite taking pride in being a Lieutenant General of SeeD, loathed the stuck-up air of it all.

_Chokefucked by protocol, _he thought, grinning to himself, _it’s all gangfucked, with consent no less, by decorums and what’s appropriate. We’re not Cockatrice, but we might as well be._

A toxic green neon sign, _Captain Caraway’s Mandolin, _widened his grin. He knew the place. A jazz bar, mocking a historical anecdote not in defiance of the man’s memory, but to use it as a conversation piece. Seifer despised the name, because he knew that Rinoa’s father didn’t play a musical instrument, and Squall had thought it funny to add it onto the history of the affair.

Then again, it was, if memory served, the perfect place to bang on some heads.

* * *

_Captain Caraway’s Mandolin _had much to offer in terms of space. The stage took up most of the far wall and was currently occupied by a bunch of musicians well into a feverish, but slightly desperate jam. The bar ran along the length of the wall to Seifer’s right, manned by a very tired blonde and three distinguished, and definitely drunk gentlemen, one of whom was in the process of haggling with a hooker. In the remaining space were round tables, each one housing a candle, and more than half occupied.

Seifer strutted forward, squeezing in between tables. A few patrons, some of their faces he recognized tensed up. One that Seifer didn’t even remember the name of got up and left. Seifer scanned the faces, all drowning in shadows thanks to the dim lighting, until he finally found one he thought viable. Slightly overweight. Soul patch on his chin. Round cheeks, round, black-rimmed glasses. Graying hair pulled into a neat ponytail.

Seifer made a beeline for his table. He was immersed in the music, his fingers tapping absently, trying to catch the drummer. Seifer pulled up an empty chair, sat down next to him, and crossed his legs.

“This seat not taken, is it?” he asked.

Asher Selan, prompted by this, glanced at him. His eyes darted, for a split second, to the scar on Seifer’s forehead. He sighed deeply and hung his head. He spoke in the gruff, throaty voice Seifer remembered fondly.

“Knew you’d be coming around, Almasy.”

Seifer smiled. “So you remember me.”

“The scar gives it away.”

“Yeah... I like it though.”

“What do you want?”

“A fight before the night ends, but for now? Information.”

“Heard none, saw none, so I can’t tell none.”

“So you really don’t know shit about what went down in Dollet yesterday?” Seifer asked, “Come on, deny it. I want to hear you deny it right now.”

Asher sighed again. He downed his drink.

“Totalism is dead.” Asher said, “They gave up.”

“Did they, now?”

“It’s been three years since I’ve heard a peep. Not even my old group is around. And now suddenly, they all show up in Dollet? What they couldn’t do for thirteen years, on and off, they pull off in a few hours?” Asher chuckled, “If you believe that, Almasy, you need a shrink, not an informant.”

The jam ended. The applause was half-hearted, given more out of respect, but even Seifer participated.

“So you’re claiming _no true Galbadian_?” he asked.

“No.” Asher said, “I’m saying that even if these were the last dregs of totalists, they didn’t do this on their own. Come on – you’ve been around. Which group, ever, suddenly had this big a breakthrough after years and years of no success?”

“The Forest.” Seifer said.

“The Forest had a Sorceress by their side, who duped you sorry fucks to do her work for her. SeeD handled the situation, SeeD negotiated the deal, which they had to mop up after that. The Forest didn’t do shit on their own.”

Seifer’s brow furrowed.

“This is not good.” He said.

Asher signaled the bartender, the tired blonde, by waving his empty glass around until she caught on.

“You can say that again.” he said, putting down his glass.

* * *

The phone’s ringing jerked her awake, and before she could even turn in bed and reach for the phone sitting on the bedside, Brea had already pulled out the snub-nosed revolver she kept hanging from its holster attached to the headboard. She picked up the receiver and put it against her ear, trying to resist the urge to fall back into sleep then and there.

“Yes?”

_“Major General, so sorry to call you at this hour... this is Ira Silva, Communications.”_

“What time is it?”

_“It’s 7:30 in Galbadia, 5:45 internal.”_

“Where are we?”

_“Western semi, sir.”_

“What is it?”

_“I was scanning the local broadcasts as per procedure, and I found something. All of the General’s communications, save for emergencies, are ran through you, so I called you.”_

The revolver still in her hand, Brea sat up and crossed her legs. She rubbed her eyes and blinked rapidly to shake off the crust.

_“There is a repeating broadcast right now of the field exam, sir.”_

Suddenly, Brea was wide awake.

“Which part?”

_“It is approximately five minutes in duration and ends with the Duke’s death.”_

Brea felt like she had just been doused with ice cold water. She got up and found herself dragging the phone along to her wardrobe.

“Thank you.” Brea said, “Don’t call the General. I’ll deliver the news personally. Meanwhile, take a recording if you can and await instructions.”

_“Yes, sir."_

Brea put the receiver down and threw the phone onto the bed. She pulled out her uniform and her holster belt.

* * *

Seifer was feeling the supplements leaving his system. He hated the comedown, it was worse than being exhausted – feeling the lessening of his will to move to somewhere with a bed in it before passing out. It was light outside, so much that he knew if he was out until full morning, the light’d make him wish he was blind. He knew it was early morning yet – the streets were largely deserted, the crowds he had combed through (and sometimes, delightfully punched through) had all gone home... except for the asshole whom had just landed a pretty good blow right on his left eye.

The pain registered dully and Seifer’s grip on his coat, sweater and shirt grew tighter. Estimating roughly from where he was holding him, Seifer swung a punch and felt the knuckles smash against his chin.

_Shit, _he thought, _hope I didn’t break his goddamn jaw. He’s no use to me if he can’t talk._

This one, whose name Seifer couldn’t be bothered to remember, had been the last treat of a closing-down bar. He had had the audacity to try and run when Seifer had made it known what he was after. It had been a brief chase, and the idiot had thought it better if he fought.

In that moment, it wasn’t going so well for him.

“You _cunt!”_ the man bellowed, prompting Seifer to start using every last bit of his strength to work on his stomach cavity. He began hitting full-force, and three punches in, the air was knocked out of his victim. Seifer twisted his grip, feeling the layers of cloth in his hands slipping slightly, and delivered a headbutt that made his jaw rattle and reminded him of the swelling left eye.

The man stumbled, holding his head. Seifer rewound one last blow and delivered a sturdy –and final- punch right on his right kneecap. He felt it crunch under the blow, and the man fell, screaming and holding his knee.

Seifer steadied himself. The last punch had taken everything he had had, but he couldn’t let him know that – not that his target was in any shape to know much of anything, busy screaming and holding the broken knee.

Seifer took two steps towards him, and decided instantly that standing there to intimidate him wasn’t an option. So he knelt, grabbed him by the shirt, and pulled him closer.

“Listen up, motherfucker,” Seifer spat, “I’m not the nice guy. I’m not the upstanding SeeD. I’ll break the other knee, and whatever else if fucking takes, right now, if you don’t tell me what I wanna know.”

“You fucked up my-“

Seifer slammed him against the wall. “I don’t give a fuck! What the fuck do you know about the Totalist attack on Dollet? You either answer that,” Seifer reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a switchblade. The flicking sound was music to his ears, “, or I’ll start cutting digits, and I don't mean the money you don't have. So speak, asshole!”

“Alright, alright!” the whimpered, his jaw clenched in helping him to keep from screaming, “Couple months back, t-there was these people, right, who was goin’ from place to place, spitting that old shit, that one Galbadia shit, lookin’ for joiners. Recruiter run, business as usual...”

“Go on.” Seifer said, switching the grip of the switchblade back and forth.

“At first nobody was buying their patriot shit, right, not after what went down last, but then they started talkin’ war shit.”

Seifer’s interest trumped his weariness instantly.

“War shit?”

“Yeah, Sorceress War shit. Said SeeD’d wrecked Deling, they were keeping Dollet to themselves, oh you know, like the old Timber Maniacs. Your General’s an asshole, he wants to keep Dollet separate so he can use it, he was why Deling was wrecked anyway – just talking a lot of shit about Leonhart.”

“That got ‘em riled up?”

The man sighed, before wincing again in pain. “I lost my wife to the rubble. You can’t go through the city without finding someone who didn’t lose someone or something to your fuckup.”

Seifer hissed through clenched teeth.

_Dollet wasn’t the objective here. This wasn’t about Galbadian unification at all..._

“Wait.” Seifer said, “So if this wasn’t about that one Galbadia under Hyne bullshit, how did they agree to get to Dollet?”

“Hit ‘em where it hurts.” The man said, “After what he did in that forest, everyone wants a piece of him, but don’t have the balls to go for it.”

“They fucking rolled with this?”

“Gil was thrown around, man. You think anyone would wanna piss your General off for shits and giggles?”

“One last question.” Seifer said, “Who the fuck were they? Who was selling?”

“Fucked if I know. I stay away from those types. I have enough shit to worry about... like the knee you just fucked up, god_damn_...”

Seifer put the switchblade back in his pocket. He fished out his comm-link from his other pocket and put it on. He switched through channels, found the emergency services, and called an ambulance.

As the man held onto his knee, wincing every few seconds due to a sudden surge of pain, Seifer’s head was beginning to throb nice and good. Nevertheless, Seifer dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled up bills. He counted 15,000 Gil, and then folded them. He stuck them in the man’s breast pocket, along with a card.

“There’s a card in that wad.” Seifer said, “When they bill you, you’re gonna give them that, tell them Ocean Garden is footing it, so they can send it to us. Get me?”

The man nodded.

“Fucking fantastic. I’m out. Thanks for the info, asshole.”

Seifer stood up and stumbled down the alley. His head was a small room filled with a thin ringing sound, too empty to process anything, too full to pick any single one out. His body was tired, he was feeling every bruise he had received during the night, and he couldn’t open his left eye. The feeling of being alive appeared to be overrated in that moment, especially when he stumbled onto the main boulevard and realized he was pretty far from the hotel, and didn’t remember which bus went where. He looked around to get a sense of where he was supposed to go, and decided to cross the street. Following it down, he managed to make it to Deling Square in one piece.

The fountain past the Monument of Triumph that he had helped modify was the first thing that caught his attention. They had restored it, minus the water, but had installed instead three viewscreens, forming a triangle around the pillar. Normally they either showed the Galbadian Empire flag, or gave the news. Presently, for the viewing pleasure of all the early risers, the joggers, the insomniacs and those whom hadn’t managed to call it a night before it had become morning, the screens were showing the news.

More accurately, the screens were showing footage of the Duke of Dollet getting shot in the neck.

There was a droning commentary about how this footage, just in from an anonymous source, et cetera et cetera, which Seifer had already phased out. He breathed in, feeling that the asshole in the alley had bruised a rib, and sighed.

“Ah, _shit._”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -After his not-so-glorious return, I have always imagined Seifer as a bit of a punk - a free spirit, in many ways not remotely beholden to the "official" as Squall is. That's why I tried to portray him here as a punk going through the more working-class areas of a historic metropolis, ready to pick a fight just for the hell of it. He knows it, too. Which, I think, is why he makes so much sense with Quistis.
> 
> -The thing about the previous installments of this series is that they were all written, by and large, from the perspective of singular characters, breaking away in individual chapters but maintaining focus. "Estranged" was Squall's POV, "Cold Metal" was Irvine's, "The Few Remaining Strands" was Squall's. The Third Sorceress War acts all had different perspectives: Act I was Squall, Act II was Laguna and Selphie for the most part and Act III was Squall once again. With this installment, I had the opportunity to spread out the narrative POV a bit more evenly and give Seifer his own time in the spotlight.
> 
> -"5:45 Internal": I figured that the Ocean Garden being a floating fortress roaming the ocean, they would not be calibrating their own schedule with the timezones of Galbadian or Estharian cities. That would throw everything out of whack whenever they had to cross a timezone, or get closer to or more distant from a certain landmass. Since the militaristic structure of SeeD would require them to have order, I thought an "internal clock" would help them do just that. This was previously unmentioned, but I figured codifying it was a good idea.


	6. Force Your Way

Selphie woke up first to the insistent knocking on the door. Beside her, Squall was fast asleep. Selphie rubbed her eyes, looking around her own bedroom, seeing everything as unfamiliar objects arranged in a strange setting that was entirely alien to her. By reflex, her right hand went to the bedside and retrieved her wedding ring. She glanced at Squall as the door was knocked on again. He seemed blissfully asleep, but Selphie knew that it wasn’t the case.

It had been one of those nights, those nights that had never gone away. Even after all these years, sometimes, he woke up screaming, thrashing, trying to reach for something and get away from another. Selphie would restrain him, hold him close, rock him gently and tell him the lie he had told her at the start of it all, that it would all be alright.

Last night, he had cried. Selphie remembered the sound, but it had been a good few years since she had heard it. He had cried for a good, solid half hour before finally, abruptly, stopping and sleeping again. She had tossed and turned beside him all night, finally passing out herself some time that, judging by how tired she felt, wasn’t too long ago.

She stood up. The feeling of the cold ground under her bare feet woke her up further with every step she took towards the sound of the knocking. She pulled the door open to find Brea, fully dressed and ready to go at whatever the hell time it was, giving her a salute.

“What time is it?” Selphie asked.

“Five minutes to six internal, sir.”

Selphie swallowed hard. “What happened?”

“Permission to enter, sir?”

“Granted.”

Selphie showed Brea in and closed the door. 

* * *

Seifer went up to the first car nearby, a black Caraway, sleek and in excellent shape. The driver, a brunette woman wearing a burgundy coat and riding with a briefcase in the passenger seat, let out a yelp of surprise when Seifer opened up the passenger side door, picked up the briefcase, tossed it in the back seat and slid in.

“You got two choices,” Seifer said. He noticed she had a thermos in a cupholder by the gearshift. He picked it up. Coffee. He took a gulp. “Drive me to the TV station, or I’ll push you out, and drive myself. I’m confiscating the coffee, by the way.”

The look on her face would be priceless if he had proper depth perception.

“You know who I am, right?” Seifer asked, taking another sip.

“Yes, I know who you are.”

Seifer noticed that she looked like the official types: navy blazer with white pinstripes, white shirt, dark wash jeans... carefully curled hair. No make-up. Well, just a little.

“Then fucking drive.” he said.

* * *

Selphie and Brea were standing on either side of Squall. He was sitting in his chair, eyes glued to the viewscreen on the wall of his office. Selphie, as the Diablos on his shoulder, had put a hand there as well. Brea, as the Alexander, had the remote of the disc player and was currently experiencing a time lapse whereby she was experiencing thirty minutes in fifteen-second segments – the length of the portion Squall was having her play again and again.

Gunshot. The shooter’s arm was broken. Sudden appearance of people on camera, the voice muttering the para-magic fading in on the last syllable, _“-el.”_

“Pause.”

The screen froze.

“Again.”

The scene played backwards, the people disappearing, the barrel-flash going backwards. Fifteen seconds back. Then, the scene played again.

“_-el.”_

“Pause.”

The screen froze.

“Again.”

Gunshot. Broken arm. Sudden people. Voice.

_“-el.”_

“Pause.”

Frozen screen.

“Again.”

“Sir...”

_“Again.”_

Gunshot, arm, people, voice.

_“-el.”_

“Pause.”

Frozen.

“Again.”

Brea shut it off.

Squall stared blankly at the screen for a few seconds before turning his gaze on her.

“It’s a dead man’s trigger.” Brea said, before he could say anything.

“What?” Selphie asked.

“It’s a sharpshooter trick, sir. The trigger mechanism of most firearms has a slight leeway. It's called a trigger creep. Something to keep you from firing off a round if you are in a tense situation, and get twitchy. The dead man’s trigger is a step above it – the shooter holds the trigger down, not enough to shoot, but enough to shoot immediately if any moves are made against him. When you, sir, broke his arm, the sudden movement and pain caused him to clench. A dead man’s trigger is a borderline gambit – it needs only one or two milimeters to work.”

Silence. Squall crossed his arms. Selphie was the one to break it.

“It was a trap.” She said, “It was a trap and we fell for it. Like goddamn amateurs.”

“But why?” Squall asked, “That’s the thing, why? What can be accomplished with this? And where the hell is Quistis?”

As if on cue, the double doors of his office was pushed open and Quistis came walking in, her cane clacking on the floor. Squall saw that she had stuck a bunch of rolled-up papers into her damaged hand. When she got to Squall’s desk, she leaned on it, hooked her cane onto her arm and then put the papers down.

“Something’s up.” Quistis said.

“You can say that again, Quisty.” Selphie said, “We made the morning news.”

Quistis nodded. “Ira told me. Squall, take a look at this.”

Squall did. Selphie and Brea leaned over to do so.

“This is a transmission log.” Squall said.

“The movements of the squads are strange.” Quistis said, “Alpha and Gamma breach the walls early on. Beta gets stuck, Kappa gets a sudden case of engagement shyness, Delta and Theta break right on through, all the way to the mansion, while we’re playing back-up on the beach. It gets better – Natili Sulla was in charge of Delta.”

“What is this?” Selphie asked, “What the fuck’s going on?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Brea asked.

“Granted.” Quistis said.

“For the moment," Brea said, "What if the aim was to somehow invoke the Garden Law by showing that the General unfit for duty, especially in light of his two percent status... and to wrestle the Garden’s control from him?”

"That's a bit... extreme." Selphie said.

“It’d also be a stupid move.” Squall said, “Garden Law also says that I am to appoint my successor myself, regardless of my status and that nobody else can make that decision for me, unless I die without appointing one.”

“That’s not very reassuring.” Quistis said.

“Already have it written down and somewhere safe.” Squall said.

“It’s not just bad PR.” Selphie said, “They’re up to something.”

“Seifer hasn’t checked in yet.” Quistis said, “Maybe the pipeline has some answers.”

* * *

Seifer didn’t know if it was the pressure, or having her morning coffee usurped by a beaten-up two percenter, and not the handsome and famous one either (the infamous one instead), or whatever, but he had to admit that she was driving better than he ever could, cutting a swath across Deling City by running every red light and managing to stay in one piece by Hyne’s grace alone.

“I like your style.” Seifer said as she gently swerved around someone crossing the street, “I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“I don’t mind. I’m just driving to work.”

“You work there?”

“Publishing department. I edit the news articles they pass on.”

Seifer eyed the briefcase. “You got any with you?”

“In the briefcase.”

Seifer reached around the gap between the seats and retrieved the briefcase. He popped it open.

“Lavender folder.” she said.

“Thanks. I don’t know your name.”

“Janit.”

Seifer pulled the envelope out and opened it. He began speed-searching for keywords. “Nice to meet you Janit,” Seifer said, “Seifer Almasy.”

“We’re almost there, Mister-“

“Only my wife calls me that.”

“Alright. We’re almost there, Seifer.”

She took a right and Seifer’s eyes caught several words at once: Garden, SeeD, Squall Leonhart, Timber, failure.

“This is about the Timber situation five months back.” Seifer said, “The Torched Forest shit. It’s history.”

Janit took a right and gently slowed down until the car had stopped. The rumbling of the engine continued.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Seifer,” Janit said, turning to face him, “But General Leonhart burned the Timber woods to the ground, with a Totalist group of fifty, and three innocent campers in it. It’s not history at all.”

_What am I, a bystander? I was actually there when the stupid asshole said “Torch the woods” you fucki-_

Seifer opened his mouth to object, but the weariness, the caffeine high that was now coursing through him, the prospect of basically bursting into the TV Station to cut the broadcast, the ramifications of that particular action (_although I didn’t kill or cripple anyone...)_ combined together and something clicked.

“Shit.” He spat. He closed the briefcase. His hand went to the door handle and he opened the door. Janit followed suit, and they both got out “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit fucking _shit!”_

Seifer slammed the door. Janit went around the car to join him.

“Alright, Janit, you seem nice enough. Gave me your coffee and everything. So I’m gonna be as nice as I can in return. That’s fair, right?”

Janit raised an eyebrow. She nodded.

Fuck, his head was aching something fierce.

“You’re not gonna run this piece. You’re not gonna run it, that’s one. Two, you’re gonna get me through security. I can do it myself, but I really don’t wanna beat up whichever unlucky fucker is there now. In return, I’ll buy you coffee, buy myself the goddamn coffee shop, and tell you a little something about the piece you were gonna run. Inside track, no bullshit. How does that sound?”

Janit sighed. She shook her head. “If I say no, you’re still gonna do it, aren’t you?”

“We’re late enough already.”

“Come on, then.”

* * *

The Dollet Dukedom’s map looked like it had been used by a child as a sketching page. Arrows and circles, next to time markers and a clutter of dots surrounded it. The viewscreen had been left on, and an anchor was running commentary in perfect monotone, matched by the constant stumbling of his correspondent, some political advisor to the President.

“If they broke the circle,” Selphie said, “, and got as far as Ferrum street, then the formation should’ve broken.”

“How did Natili’s squad make it all the way through, but lost their field mages?” Squall asked, crossing his arms.

“This redband schtick of hating anything even remotely related to the Sorceress in nature makes me sick.” Quistis said.

“More to the point,” Squall pointed at the beach, “This is where we come in. Kappa here,” he tapped on the ridge next to the communications tower, “And Beta here.” He tapped on the main gates, “Beta’s been asking for reinforcements for a while. If those inside were so cozy, why not let them in too? The trap’d still work, and it’d be less suspicious.”

“Double bluff, sir?” Brea offered.

Selphie clacked her tongue. “Don’t think so.”

“But this means...” Squall scowled, “This means they threw the exam just to get us there.”

“Then what about Timber? The Centra sweep before that?” Quistis asked.

“Diversion.” Squall said, “Make it seem like a pattern.”

Brea tapped Squall on the shoulder.

“Sir!”

“What?” Squall asked.

“Ah shit.” Selphie said.

“What the hell is he-“ Quistis swallowed the rest of her sentence.

Their eyes were glued to the viewscreen.

* * *

The whole scene lasted all but a minute. Quistis almost gasped when Seifer stumbled into the shot, dirty all over, one eye swollen shut, blood and bruises on his hands and the sleeves of his jacket. He moved forward like a conscious drunk, brushing past the political correspondent and proceeded to push the anchor out of the way.

“What the fuck does he think he’s doing?” Squall asked, mainly to himself.

“_People of Gabladia and anyone else receiving this...” _Seifer said, keeping both hands on the desk to keep himself steady, _“...the footage of the Duke’s death has been obtained illegally and thus, cannot be shown on screen until cleared by the Duke of Dollet himself... or herself... Galbadian National Law, Journalistic Ethics, Section 3, Article 6 explicitly states that material of politically sensitive nature, including footage from Dollet or the islands can’t just be fucking,” _Quistis didn’t know whether to be ashamed or strangely pleased that he had just sworn on a live broadcast,_ “,splattered across the screens! I know Timber’s running this, I know everyne everywhere’s running this, and I know this may not apply to Esthar, or Centra or anywhere but here, but so long as you have your laws in place, this broadcast is over! Cut! I said, cut, you fucking beanstalk, what the fuck are you just staring at me for!? Fine, I’ll cut it myself, move!”_

Mercifully, the broadcast cut to the Galbadian flag.

A shocked silence ensued for several minutes. Selphie was the one to break it.

“Did he just... bullshit that?” she asked.

Quistis burst out laughing. Brea, Squall and Selphie could only look at each other as she split her sides.

“Hyne...” Quistis breathed, “I forgot how good this feels, ahem... no.” she chuckled, “No, he didn’t. I had to go over Galbadian law many times over the years, and he was in charge of quizzing me on it each time... I think he kinda memorized their broadcasting laws.”

“What happened to him..?” Selphie asked, “He looke like hell.”

“I don’t know.” Squall said, “I sent him to check the pipeline, not to... do this.”

“It seems like he is onto something, sir.” Brea said, “He also managed to tell us that someone leaked it.”

“A tape recording, maybe. We cut the live broadcast, but it was still being recorded.” Squall said, “But that means someone took it. It was only us, and the Duke’s family and...” he clenched his teeth, “Fuck... Brea.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Get the Garden Faculty, get the list from the post-action report.”

“The exam roster, sir?” Brea asked.

Squall nodded, “Yes. Anyone who made it back. All of them.”

“And then?” Quistis asked.

Squall’s hand curled into a fist. “Anyone who has participated in yesterday’s field exam is under arrest under suspicion of treason.”


	7. Martial Law

Brea walked through the Garden, shadowed by her own small retinue of Garden Faculty. Her mere presence most of the time was enough to elicit reactions of disgust, condescension, hatred, pity and, in some cases, admiration – but right now, the faces she saw around her reflected confusion, curiosity, and in the case of some redbands, realization of what her presence meant.

Brea knew that they called her “The General’s Dog” when they thought she couldn’t hear, “The General’s Whore” when they thought she wasn’t there at all. Their words didn’t matter to her at all. She would not apologize for doing her duty, nor would she try and appeal to their liking. The scared little sharpshooter found during the Garden Atrocity had shed all that long before any of them had step foot into her home. She had done her duty, and now, she was doing exactly the same.

In one hand, Brea held a list of cadets, and behind the first sheet was a time table, cut and pasted onto a spare page, indicating where they were supposed to be at the time. Brea’s first destination was the Dormitory, where three of her cadets were supposed to be.

The Garden Faculty members, their faces obscured by their hoods, did not make a single sound. They simply followed her, like ghosts.

Brea made her way down the corridors, searching for the room the first one, Ira Dafid was in. When she found it, she pointed at the Garden Faculty to step back and out of her target’s line of sight. She knocked four times. After a few moments, a cadet dressed in pajama pants and a wifebeater opened the door. Jet-black, short-cropped hair, angular cheeks, brown eyes and a scar on his chin. The source of the small mugshot in the cadet list she had. Brea stuck it in her jacket’s side pocket.

“Ira Dafid, Class Q?” she asked.

Ira sized her up. “Yeah? What do you want?”

“You are under arrest.”

Ira blinked. He blinked a couple of times. “...what?”

“You are under arrest. Come with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. You have to charge me first.”

_That’s right, _Brea thought, _but my orders say not to, unless I absolutely have to._

“Fine.” Brea said, “You are under arrest for suspicion of treason.”

“Bullshit! You have no-“

Brea put one hand on her pistol.

“You either come quietly, or I’ll drag you out of this room and into your cell. Your choice, cadet.”

* * *

The TV Station was modeled after both the Timber Maniacs building and the TV Station in Timber, and as such, was full of small rooms filled with metal furniture that valued functionality over visuals. It had a small cafeteria on the ground floor, which was another name for an open space with a few round tables and plastic chairs that stood surrounded by vending machines, coffee machines and the ordering window that, Seifer guessed, led to the kitchen.

Seifer was sitting in a corner table, one eye constantly darting to the door, fresh off the third bathroom break he had had to take in the last hour and on his fifth black coffee. Janit, looking quite pleased to be there, was slowly sipping tea from a Styrofoam cup.

The tape that held the Duke’s death was on the table, a stark contrast with the dirty white surface. They had been talking largely about the TV Station’s right to or not to run the tape. Seifer’s head was beyond splitting at this point – he could feel both of his eyeballs turning in their sockets.

“Whatever it is,” Seifer said, “I want to know your source.”

“It came by mail. Hand-delivered.”

“Regular delivery boy?”

“No. Some guy.”

Seifer knocked the cup back, “So, let me get this straight, you take this shit from anyone who just walks in here?”

“If the contents are legit,” Janit replied, leaning back, “Why not?”

“Fuck me, Kole’s gonna have your ass for this.” Recollection made him sigh, “Fuck, I gotta meet him today...”

“How did you get beat up, anyway?” Janit asked, her lips curling in a smile, “I mean, Seifer Almasy, worse for wear. Imagine that.”

“Don’t get cute, it was a lucky shot.” Seifer said, grimacing, “Or five. Don’t change the subject.”

“I doubt anyone could tell you. We get anonymous materials all the time.”

“Man’s not even in the ground yet.”

Janit shrugged. “News is news.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

Janit nodded. Seifer took the opportunity.

“Did you know that our cadet detachment was supposed to stop them before they could get into the woods?”

Janit raised an eyebrow and Seifer managed to grin before he continued:

“That fuckup wasn’t ours. Quistis intercepted a transmission and learned their movements. We set up an ambush. They’d fucked up before, so Squall and I were holding watch with the other instructors, somewhere on some hill, I don’t fucking remember...” Seifer blinked rapidly, his head was starting to spin, “So, well into the timeline, one of the squads sends a distress call, tells us they were a click off and that the Totalists had walked right past them. The woods were too thick to go into with just four instructors and us.”

Janit appeared to be hanging onto every word.

“That’s when Squall commed the squads, told them to stay out of the woods. He cut the line, turned to me, and said... well, you know what he said.”

Janit nodded, “‘Torch the woods.’“

“I used Ifrit, the other Instructors used whatever they had. We burned the entire place right to the ground. Totalists, monsters...”

“Campers.” Janit reminded.

“We didn’t know.” Seifer said, “I mean, who the fuck camps out in the woods when there's a monster behind every damn tree?”

“What, Funguar? They’re harmless. And delicious.”

“That’s not why I told you this.” Seifer said, “Thing is, we positioned the cadets ourselves before retreating to the extraction point. The intel was legit. How were they a click off?”

It took a moment for Janit to realize that the question wasn’t rhetorical.

“The information was bad.”

“No.” Seifer said, “It takes a lot to get something past Quistis. But, if the intel was bad, then the intel was _deliberately_ bad. If it was good, then something else happened – maybe they just managed to breeze on through the idiots. Which is what we’ve been stuck at ever since. Now,” he took a deep breath, “I need to make a call, where can I find a phone?”

* * *

The cadets and SeeDs watched for the next hour as Brea, followed closely by the Garden Faculty, went from place to place, scaling the Garden in the process. She ticked names off her list, one by one. A few came quietly. Some tried to argue Garden Law, or anything they could think of. Some tried to bargain. Two tried to fight, one of which Brea had to knock out with the butt of her pistol, had to be dragged out.

With every arrest, Brea handed the suspect to a Garden Faculty member. Her group grew smaller at times, but lost no-one when those she had sent in a prior arrest returned. At the very end, there was only one name left on the list: Oli Sych. A lean, yet powerful martial artist with his own signature blend style that utilized dance-like moves. Skilled, and the survivor of two failed field exams. Brea found him, as she suspected she would, in the Training Center, dancing circles around a pack of Grats, using their vine-like appendages as practice. Since he was doing this as a means of cardio, Brea decided to cut it short for him. She drew one of her pistols and fired six shots, dropping the creatures instantly. Oli stumbled, surprised by the sudden, incoming fire, and did what Brea expected him to do – he ducked, rolled, and rose again to an opening stance. Upon seeing her, he relaxed.

“Major General Willings... to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked.

“Oli Sych, you are under arrest under suspicion of treason.” Brea said, her pistol still in her hand, “Please, come quietly.”

Oli stood there, staring at her like she had just asked him to do something impossible. “Uh... excuse me?” he said.

“You are under arrest. Come quietly.”

“Fuck you!”

Oli broke into a sprint, tearing through the distance, zig-zagging towards Brea. Brea didn’t think. She simply took aim and fired, dropping Oli onto the mud. She holstered her pistol and gestured for the Garden Faculty to take him away, and reminded them, as if she had just remembered herself, to get him to the Infirmary first. As the Garden Faculty brushed past her to do as they were told, she fished out the neatly folded list from her pocket and double-checked it.

_All done._

She crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it away. Some monster, somewhere would find it to be a strange meal, she was sure. 

* * *

In all the years they had been together, Selphie had been sure of a precious few things. Squall would always take some time to reach. Quistis was in more pain than she led on. She herself had forgotten what it was like to not smile and try to entertain disinterested or outright hostile cadets into doing something. Finally, she was sure that there’d never be a day when Squall would lose his temper with Brea, mostly because Brea wouldn’t do anything to warrant it.

Squall’s shout cast echoes into the cavernous office.

“Just what the fuck did you do, Brea!? What did you do? Explain yourself!”

“I was defending myself, sir.”

“Do you realize that this is exactly the kind of thing I’m trying to avoid!?” Squall replied, “If you had killed him I-“

“I aimed for a non-lethal spot, sir.”

“I _know _you’re a crack shot, that’s not the point! The point is-“

The phone started ringing. Squall snatched the receiver from the cradle so hard that the cradle jumped and tipped over.

“This is the General, what is it?”

_“Squall, it’s me.”_

“Seifer, just what the fuck are you-“

_“Save it, big guy, I’m in no condition for this shit- I’ve been up for twenty-four hours and I took a beating for what I’m about tell you. Make like yourself and shut the hell up.”_

“Fine. Whatever.”

_“Atta boy. Now, the tape they showed was given to them by a courier. No name, no face, just some random guy. It’s the original, it has the fucking Dukedom seal on it. Which means, somebody took it from the panic room. One of ours. Gotta be.”_

“Yeah.”

_“That’s not all. The Totalists called it quits after Timber. Don’t ask, I know a guy. So this new batch? Somebody’s been recruiting, tossing Gil around, talking shit. Saying revenge for Deling, that you had fucked it up so you... they... something... wait... what was it... yeah, yeah, got it, that Dollet was about wrecking your shit, don’t know what for, or how it was supposed to work. Like I said, nobody knows who these assholes were.”_

“That’s the strange thing. There’s a plan, but there’s no objective to it. Or there is, but the moves made don’t build up to it. Not that I can see.”

_“But yeah, that’s what they said, that this is about you.”_

“We worked out an angle already. I’ll tell you when you get back. When’ll you be here?”

_“Fuck it. I ran out of supplements early on. I’m just gonna find me some place that takes cash to let me crash, put my money down, sleep for a day, and Kole can kiss my ass.”_

“Kole?”

_“Aren’t I meeting Field Marshal Kole? To do whatever?”_

Squall couldn’t help but smile.

“He probably does want a word, but we didn’t set up an appointment. I just said that so you wouldn’t try to delay.”

_“You’re lucky I’m too tired and way over here. If I was there, I'd-”_

“Save it. Go sleep. When you wake up, get back – straight away, get it?”

_“Sure. I’m gone.”_


	8. Unrest

Squall couldn’t sleep. His body was tired, practically screaming at him to shut his eyes and drift away, but he just couldn’t. After an hour or two, he abandoned the parody of sleep and got up. He kept a contingency outfit on an armchair by Selphie’s dresser – a plain, black t-shirt, black hoodie, jeans, socks and shoes. His gunblade was resting next to it. It was for a possible emergency, for if he couldn’t go out in his underwear, and besides, since the Ocean Garden was always adrift, circling the same path, nights in the middle of the ocean were always chilly at best.

He got dressed silently, watching Selphie sleep. He adored that about her, that she could still fall asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. He remembered the nights he kept her awake with his nightmares. Not tonight.

He slinked out of their suite.

* * *

The air was thick with moisture, the chill almost biting. The only figures besides him in the central area were the Garden Faculty, who didn’t bat an eye as he walked past them. One of the perks of being the General: no curfew.

The ambient lights, a circle of them illuminating the column of the elevator tower, another the Directory, lit up his path, but drew thick shadows across the marble ground. It told him that it was 4 something A.M. His every step echoed, and the humming of the Garden, subtle but present, followed him all the way into the Library.

* * *

The smell of carpeting and worn wood coupled with the rich aroma of pages greeted him the moment he stepped in. The study lights at the scattered desks were off, so were the ceiling lights. The only light, a warm orange aura, was around the elliptical reception desk. Behind it, she was eating her lunch – a sandwich, prepared and left for her at the reception desk as per his instructions. He knew that her options were endless: if she had asked for Chocobo stew, he would have it prepared for her. She usually opted for simpler things. Accompanying that were chips and three bottles of orange juice. Doctor’s orders, that last one.

Her hair was pulled into twin pigtails, as it always was. Her thick-rimmed glasses sat halfway down her nose, the eyes behind them focused on the book in her hand. _The Odyssey into the Vacuum, _Torbin Wendt.

Darina noticed him as he walked past and immediately put down her book and sandwich to give him a salute. Squall sighed.

“As you were, Darina.” He said.

“Couldn’t sleep, sir?”

“One of those nights. Don’t mind me.”

“Care to join me, sir?”

Squall pulled up a chair and put it next to the reception desk. It was a bit too high for them to be at the level, with Darina looking down on him, but Squall didn’t mind. When she made a move to get up, he held up a hand and had her sit down.

“It’s fine.” He said, “Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t think it’s proper, sir.”

“Forget proper. That's an order.” Squall said.

Darina laughed. A low, crystalline sound that she stifled with the back of her hand.

“Rough night, sir?” she asked.

“I guess. You?”

“Not especially, sir. Would you... like to tell me?”

Squall raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”

“You’d be surprised, sir.” Darina said, taking back her sandwich and taking a bite, “The cadets and SeeDs that can’t sleep... they sometimes tell me about whatever is keeping them up. Not because we’re friends or anything. They just need someone, sometimes. And it gets... lonely sometimes, too.”

“The things you must know...” Squall commented.

Darina averted her gaze.

“It’s nothing world-ending.” Squall said, “Or at least, that’s what I’m hoping for.”

“Is it the Duke’s death, sir?”

“You’ve heard something?”

“A lot of the... cadets come here at nights.” Darina said, “Before my shift, but sometimes they stay. The... redbands, I believe?” Squall nodded, “They read a lot. They were here just half an hour ago.”

Squall felt something in his mind click. It felt like the sound a revolver hammer made when it was cocked.

“What are they reading? In general, I mean?”

“Just a second, sir.”

Darina turned to the touch-screen console and typed in her name and password. Squall waited as she tapped her way through the records.

“This is... permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

“This is nice. Your company, I mean. You’ve been good to me over the years... gave me everything I could have wanted.”

“I wish I could do more.”

“I don’t think you could, sir. The necklace you gave me on my last birthday would contest that by a... a-ha! There we are. Let’s see.”

Squall stood up and placed his hands on the counter.

“Their favored subject is history.” She said, “A few of them also recently exhausted whatever we had on sorceress lore. Some of them are also interested in politics.”

Squall felt a chill run down his spine.

“Which branches?” he asked.

“By the titles, it’s The Three Sorceress Wars, the historicity of the Vascaroon legends, Tomb of the Unknown King. Politics of Galbadia – one book in particular. One of them was checked out by... yes, Natili Sulla, and then they bounced it around a lot. I had to tell them I would have no choice but to get you involved, sir, to get it back.”

“Title?”

“_And the Forest Grew: An Account of Sorceress Rinoa’s Rise and Fall, _by Sir Kiros Seagill.”

Squall looked around for something to distract him. Basic exercise: substitution. A mundane object to stifle the raging, infinitely multiplying thoughts and stop them from getting tangled up. His eyes found, of all things, Darina’s crutches, propped up against the reception counter. Adamantine, adjusted specifically for her height, with auto-clamp armrests to help her with her balance.

“Darina, I know you know the database like the palm of your own hand. I know you at least know of the Leonhart Archives.”

“Yes, sir.” Darina said meekly, “I do.”

“Have any of these cadets or SeeDs tried to access it, from here or from the library interaces in study panels?”

Darina nodded.

“How many?”

“All of them, sir, one time or another. You are rather lucky the archive here is just a red herring – if the actual archive was networked, some might’ve tried their hand at getting through.”

“How do you..?”

Darina blushed.

“My rank is the same as that of Brea Willings, sir: Major General.” Darina said, “While the clearance level is _Lieutenant_ General, the coding makes an exception for our rank, and the system recognizes our special positions as meeting the requirements.”

_That was an oversight, _Squall thought, _it was supposed to give Brea a chance to access it if need be. Never thought it’d let you through._

The phone by the screen began to ring. Darina picked it up.

“The Library?”

She nodded, but her brow creased and when she handed over the receiver, Squall wasn’t surprised. He took it.

“This is General Leonhart.”

_“Son, hello.”_

“Father?”

_“That wasn’t Selphie, though, who picked up the phone. Are you feeling the burn of married life or something?”_

Squall rolled his eyes.

“I’m in the Library. What is it? You never call at this hour.”

_“Y’remember Ton, the Hendersan’s kid that’s staying with his grandparents? Y’know, the gardener? Fair hand with roses?”_

Squall vaguely recalled hearing incessantly about the kid, and having met him once.

“Yeah?”

_“Well I asked him to keep an eye on your little squad here. A few weeks back. Cupola may be a town of old geezers, but ya never know. The Duke was beloved.”_

“Is there a point to this?”

_“He rang me up five minutes ago. Your squad left town. He followed them all the way to the train station.”_

“Isn’t that half an hour’s drive?”

_“Ah, to be young again.”_

“Did he say anything else?”

_“No. He was pretty exhausted. Fell asleep on the couch. Didn’t have the heart to wake him.”_

“This is strange.” Squall said, “Thank you for calling me right away.”

_“Is something up?”_

“We’ll see. I’ll let you know.”

_“Alright. And come over sometime, yeah? I miss you.”_

“I will. Goodnight, father.”

_“’night.”_

Squall handed the receiver back to Darina and stood up.

“Thank you for your company, Darina.” Squall said, “And your help.”

Darina grinned.

“The pleasure’s all mine, sir.” 

* * *

Squall left the library and ran to the elevators. He got in and went up to the administrative floor. The doors opened, and he cleared the hallway in a rush, letting his body lead. It was when he found the doors of his office and looked at the key slot that he thanked Hyne for always keeping a master key card in his spare clothes’ pocket.

He entered and turned on the lights. The sudden brightness blurred his vision for a few moments. He got to his desk, sat down and he took the phone. He pressed the pound key and waited. Two. Three. Four.

_“Communications?”_ a tired voice answered.

“This is the General. Put me through to the dispatch in Timber.”

* * *

Half an hour of working his communications officer to his night shift limits made finally putting the receiver down sound like he was pressing the red button in a missile base.

_All of them. All._

Squall stared at his desk. Just beyond it, he could see the letters of the seven he had sent to brig, waiting in their navy envelopes. He considered the numbers. One squad from Cupola, two and a half from Timber, four from Deling, two individual cadets from Fisherman’s Horizon, the one squad of cadets from Winhill. That made them twenty-eight in total. Sizeable, but only eleven were SeeDs. But why?

Squall reached for the phone again. It rang three times.

_“Hangar Bay?”_

“This is the General. Give me a list of departures in the past four hours.”

_“Yes, sir. Just a sec.”_

_Come on, work faster. Earn your lunch ticket._

_“In the last hour, two APC hovercrafts left the hanger, each carrying seven passengers – that’s twelve cadets, two SeeDs.”_

“How the fuck did you let them go past curfew?”

_“They had the clearance, sir. Pre-booked, with... well, uhh, your signature.”_

“Lockdown.” Squall said, “Anyone who’s below the rank of Lieutenant General, Brea Willings excluded, outside their dorms will be detained. If anyone refuses, you are authorized to use deadly force and you _will_ use it when necessary. You got it?”

_“Yes, sir! Sir, if I may, I didn’t-“_

“Save it. Have Ragnarok at the ready. Get the submitted flight plans of those APCs. I’ll be down shortly, and I want them in my hands when I get there. Get to it.”

Squall hung up.

He had one more stop. He had to be absolutely certain.

* * *

When the elevator doors opened, Squall almost didn’t want to step out of it. The hall stretching onwards before him was lit only by the perpetual torches lining the walls, much darker than the elevator cabin. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest, memories that he wished he could bury clawing to the surface. Where he was about to go, he would remember as a point lower than Rinoa’s unending nightmare machine, lower than he had ever been before or after.

_But I have to know._

Squall stepped forward. Two steps. The elevator doors hissed closed behind him and he began to move forward, his footsteps echoing dully. The stone walls shutting him in, he felt claustrophobic, locked inside with his thoughts.

_I did what I had to do. It has to be enough._

He couldn’t deny that his reason for being there was a result of his choices. The Leonhart Archives – history rewritten. He had done it out of love and out of duty, and to get away from the inevitable, at least delay it until it was out of his hands. He had chosen to put the mock archive into the database, albeit well-hidden, to see if anyone would try to get in. The contents of the networked archive were bogus, just random strings of characters that didn’t mean anything.

Squall emerged into the main hall. The circular space was considerably brighter than the entrance on account of having lines and lines of torches that burned brighter, reflecting off the worn stone. Squall took a right and went straight to one of the inner chambers.

He emerged from the hallway, turned left, and saw it.

His mind went numb and his legs carried him forward, every step bringing him closer to the sight he did not want to see. Under the light of the white-light torches, he saw the chunks of broken stone and dust on the ground. He stepped over them. He found the brass name plate on the ground, right at the foot of the tomb.

He didn’t have to look at it to know what it read.

**ZELL DINCHT**

Squall reached into the rectangular cavity and retrieved a chalice. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that at least, his ashes were not disturbed. Careful not to do it himself, he peered into the tomb. There was nothing else in there.

Squall’s heart sank. Staring at him from the depths of the empty tomb was the absence of something more precious than he could put to words: a vial of Zell’s blood, placed there as per custom. A vial that was supposed to have been in the chalice.

A vial that wasn’t there now.

Squall placed the ashes back. He put the name plate in also. He stood there as if to pay his respects.

“It’s not enough...” he whispered bitterly, “You were right, Zell. It’s just not enough.”


	9. Heresy

Seifer’s first thought upon waking up from a ten-hour sleep was that maybe he should not have just taken off his clothes and collapsed on the hotel bed, especially not with his mobile comm-unit directly on the pillow. Its shrill beeping sound startled him, but years of having been woken up like this had made his response automatic: take device, insert into ear, click the button, talk.

Before he could, he had to admit that his left eye was still swollen shut and still hurt like a motherfucker. He was sore all over. He was parched beyond the telling of it, from pouring cup after cup of coffee and he had to take a piss like there was no tomorrow.

_“Seifer, wake up.”_

“Wha..?”

“_I’ve already signaled the hovercraft, it’ll pick you up from the roof. You have your gunblade with you?”_

“Fuck you, Leonhart, seriously...” Seifer moaned.

_“Seifer, please.”_

His tone struck him and suddenly, Seifer was wide awake.

“No, I didn’t think I’d need it.”

_“We’ll have it, you’ll have to use your spare.”_

“My spare?”

_“We have one for each of us, plus for contingencies, remember?”_

Seifer got up, stumbling, trying to find his way to the bathroom. Upon pulling down his underwear, it hit him.

“You’re taking the Ragnarok!? Squall, what the fuck is going on? Where am I headed?”

Squall answered. Seifer just responded in the affirmative and shut down the channel. As he shivered to the delight of having went, he found that his hands were shaking.

_You motherfuckers... _he thought, _you fucking heretics._

* * *

At the foot of Ragnarok’s ramp, bathed in the intense, blue-white light issuing from it, Selphie and Brea, in full uniform and armed, were trying to shake off the last vestiges of their interrupted sleep. Both had been woken up by phone calls, and both, having kept their weapons and uniforms ready and close by in case of such a situation, had gone to the hangar bay in under ten minutes.

Selphie had been the one to stop and feel a chill running down her spine when she had seen the Ragnarok’s majestic form, bathed in the focused overhead lights of the hangar. The ramp was down, the spacecraft’s lights were on. It was prepped and ready.

_The Ragnarok..? We haven’t taken it out for years... what’s going on?_

Selphie busied herself by telling Brea a childhood story, which was cut short when the blast doors leading to the hangar bay opened and let Squall, in full uniform and carrying his gunblade, through. Brea stood to attention and Selphie simply waited for him to get to them.

A techie approached him halfway and handed him a bunch of papers. Squall took one look, and dismissed him. He threw the papers away and quickened his steps. When he got to their side, Brea saluted him. Selphie simply glared at him quizzically.

“Selphie, you’re piloting.” he said.

“Sure, but what’s going on?”

“Our deployed squads all over Galbadia abandoned their posts three to four hours ago.” Squall said, “At least one of them headed for the nearest train station. On top of that, two APCs left this hangar roughly around the same time. I just got their flight plans... didn’t need to.”

“Do they have an objective, sir?” Brea asked.

Squall didn’t answer. Selphie gently caressed his cheek. She could see that familiar glare in his eyes, that she had first seen when they were both drunk, years ago... on the night of Zell’s death.

_“There’s only pain, and desperation, and the thought that nothing’s going to be alright.”_

“Centra.” Squall said, his voice barely a whisper, almost lost in the ambient noise of the hangar, “They’re going after Matron.”

* * *

The Ragnarok took to the skies, its passing followed by the ever-watchful gaze of Ocean Garden’s defense batteries. 

* * *

Seifer had forgotten all about the pain, all about his weariness, all about everything else. The hovercraft was vibrating as it glided through the air, carrying its sole passenger along to somewhere he did not want to go back to again. Not like this.

Seifer didn’t know what Matron meant to anyone, but to him, whom had been her ‘knight’ for a brief time, Matron was so much more than just a woman, or just a caretaker, or just a sorceress... she was his mother. He recalled that as a child, he’d often try to picture his birth mother, but would always see Edea. Maybe his mother had been someone like her. He didn’t know.

As it was with failure, he was also used to being scared. He had been scared many times in his life, some of which innocent (like when he told Zell ghost stories that he knew scared himself more than his poor friend) and some of which not (when he had feared that feeding Rinoa to Adel wouldn’t work.) But presently, what he felt wasn’t just fear, but desperation that had scarcely tasted before.

It was mixed with anger when he saw that he had been had. The redbands had fucked with them, nice and good. The failed exams, the Timber fiasco, everything had been a sham.

_They were playing the long game and we fuckin’ missed it. Maybe we wanted to. Hell, even I don’t want to remember what happened in Deling._

* * *

“I see smoke!” Selphie said. She reached for the console and cut the thrusters almost completely, setting the spaceship to hovering mode. She grabbed the goggles from their handle behind the wheel and put them on. She placed her palm onto the center of the wheel and began to turn, zooming in.

“Sitrep.” Squall said.

“It’s the White SeeD ship!” Selphie said, “It’s burning.”

“Can you land us near, or hover on top?”

A moment of silence.

“Selphie!”

Selphie silently took off the goggles, switched the thrusters back on, and soared right through the wreckage. Squall barely got a glimpse of it.

“No survivors.” Selphie said.

Squall caught a glimpse of APCs moving across the water, towards the orphanage.

“Quistis, give Matron a call. They better be ready, we’ll be there within the minute.” Squall instructed.

_“Roger that.”_

* * *

Seifer’s hovercraft was in the final moments of its landing onto the dry Centran soil when the Ragnarok came soaring in, coming in hot with its ramp already down. Seifer didn’t wait, he pushed the side hatch open and leapt out of the craft. He heard and felt Ragnarok making a landing, and then saw Brea, running with both pistols out, followed by Selphie, carrying her nunchucks. Squall was the last to get out, carrying two gunblades. Upon Seifer’s approach, he tossed one, his spare, over.

“You look like shit.” Squall said.

“You should see them after I’m done.”

“Stop bonding, let’s go!” Selphie called.

They ran towards the familiar orphanage, almost perfectly in sync. The stone building, rebuilt and enlarged, was still standing as somber and quiet as it ever was. As they moved past the flower garden, now withering with the onset of autumn. The front door was closed, which prompted Seifer to overtake the others and slam into it, almost tearing it off its hinges. He stumbled, but managed to keep his footing, and stood in the entrance, two steps in. The others followed.

Edea was standing in the middle of the living room. She had a plain black dress on, a gray sweater on top of it, and was wearing black sneakers. What gave the SeeDs pause was that she was also carrying a bolt-action rifle. Ellone was in the corner, huddled next to an armchair and directly underneath a window.

“Okay, I’ve got two clips,” Cid’s voice came as he entered the living room through the kitchen, “, and I’m still a good shot, so. What are you looking... at...” his eyes found Squall, Selphie, Seifer and Brea. He smiled. “It’s nice to see you all agai-“

The window behind him shattered without warning. The bullet tore through flesh, bone, brain, bone and flesh again, going cleanly through. The pressure of its impact sprayed small clouds of red around the head, joined in by thicker spurts as the eyeball it hit exploded in its socket. Cid’s head jerked back and forth, as if caught in a whiplash, and the impact, while not powerful enough to send him off his feet, made him stagger backwards. Droplets of blood began pouring out of the exit wound.

In the slow-motion moment, Squall saw flaps of skin, billowing around the hole.

Motor functions failed almost instantly and his fingers opened, the gun he was holding dropped to the ground at his feet. His knees buckled then, and the rest of the body, now like a puppet without strings, fell. It lay there in a pile, somehow still dignified, with a pool of crimson forming around the head, leaking out of the hole that had sucked out his life.

Ellone screamed.

* * *

Seifer saw red. He ran into the kitchen and went out the back door. 

* * *

Ellone screamed again. And again. And again. And again. Squall saw her, huddled in the small corner made by the wall and the fireplace, hands around her head, her eyes wide open and fixated on the corpse. The sounds of the firefight was rattling in the background, with shrapnel from stone, glass and wood was occasionally embellishing the scene.

The familiar rumbling, the eye-blink muzzle flash of Brea’s twin pistols, beating out a symphony in vain; bullet after bullet when it had taken only one to change everything. The sizzling of Selphie’s magic, painting the evening scene in neon colors. The clang of Seifer’s gunblade, and his colourful curses with every strike.

_It’s not enough... it’s just not enough._

Ducking low, Squall stepped over the corpse to get to Ellone. He had just opened his mouth to say something when the door of Edea’s room opened up and she crossed the threshold, and into the trenches that used to be the living room of her home.

_No..._

Edea didn’t see it at first. She nudged Squall aside and held Ellone as she kept screaming. Tears came pouring out, and Edea held her as she cried, her grip strong, her words, lost in the noise of the battleground, gentle and meant to comfort.

“We need to pull out, sir!” Brea’s shout came, “LG Almasy will-“

LG Almasy came bursting through a semi-intact window, followed by a flurry of bullets and throwing knives. He crawled closer to the wall and glanced at a cut that had taken the arm of his uniform. He decided that their tailor needed to learn how to properly stitch these things – it was just a graze.

“Shit! We gotta pull out!” Seifer said to Squall, “They’re all here, we’re outnumbered!”

“We can take ‘em!” Selphie roared, unleashing a triple Thundaga.

“Nobody’s _that _good, fuck!” Seifer spat, "They're hunkered down fucking solid, what the fuck do you propose!?"

“Pull out to where, then!?” Selphie asked, hurling a LVL5 Firaga spell out the window, without even looking if it had hit, “Back to the Garden?”

Brea ejected spent clips and inserted her last extras. “I’m almost out!” she announced, taking cover just to the side of the window she was using, “Sir!”

“Squall, what-“ Edea began, but her eyes were now turned to the center of the living room, to the corpse. Squall couldn’t even react before she held up her hands and plucked her children from where they were hiding. Ellone was yanked out of her place also, and tossed out with them.

“Matron...” Selphie began, but with one flick of her finger, Edea silenced her.

“Go.” She said, “Go back to the Garden. They want us alive. I can glimpse it in their minds. So don’t just _fucking_ stand there, go!”

Nobody moved. The footsteps outside were getting closer. They could hear half-complete commands being exchanged.

“_Go!_” Edea commanded, and with her command, the five were pushed right out the door. The door slammed itself shut. Before their eyes, it melted into the stone frame, and the stone began to spread from the outside in. In a few seconds, it was just a wall.

* * *

For a few moments, they could only stare.

“What the fuck do we do now?” Seifer asked, breathing heavy.

“What she said.” Squall replied, “Let’s go. If we need to get to the Garden, we have to beat them to it.”

“And then what?” Selphie asked.

“And then, we get what we have, _and we kill them all._” Squall said, starting to walk in Ragnarok’s direction, “This is an act of mutiny. It’s punishable only by death. Firing squad for most.”

“And, for the rest, sir?” Brea asked.

“Me.” Squall replied.

They didn’t argue as they began to run towards the hulking spaceship. Their thoughts, dissonant and separate, were in harmony as they got closer, as they heard the noises beginning to issue from the orphanage – they were all thinking about the dead body of Cid Kramer that they had left lying on the floor. 

* * *

Selphie took off immediately as Squall settled in beside her, fingers working the comm console.

“Quistis, come in, we need you.” He said.

There was nothing but static on the line.

“Quistis!” Squall repeated.

The voice of Natili Sulla answered. _“General.”_

Squall opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

_“Quistis Trepe has been relieved of her duties. Our dispatch in Centra tells me that you put on quite a show. Now, can Mrs. Leonhart put me on speaker so Mr. Almasy and Ms. Willings can hear?”_

Selphie glanced at Squall. He wasn’t moving. She did as she had been asked.

“Done.” She said.

_“Very well. Members of the Gemini Squad, this is Headmaster Natili Sulla. Effective immediately, you are all under arrest. Quistis Trepe has been apprehended. I am also told that Edea Kramer and Ellone Loire were also captured and are currently on their way here. I advise you to surrender and come quietly. You are outnumbered, fifty to one.”_

Something snapped inside Squall and he saw the future unfolding in his mind’s eye. With his clarity, he decided to speak without reservation.

“Who do you think you’re fucking with, _cadet_?” he snarled, “You have one thing to do: surrender while I am still presenting you with the option.”

_“Is that your final answer?”_

“Is it yours?” Squall asked.

Natili laughed. It made Squall’s skin crawl.

_“You never learn, Squall.” _She said, _“The Garden is ours. The Orphans of Deling are owed that much.”_

“You’re owed _nothing_.” Squall replied, “Your mother was killed during the Second Offensive. Your father is unknown. Your mother voted for the sorceress who made the offensive necessary. Those who didn’t support Rinoa for presidency are too small a minority – do you even know how much? 0.8%. Those are the Delingites that are owed something for having been subjects to someone your mother and her ilk put on the pedestal!”

_“You fucking bastard! How dare you!?”_

“Fuck you.”

Squall cut the line. He waited for a few moments, as if she’d call again, but she didn’t.

“Let’s go.” Squall said, “One way or the other, it ends today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may seem rather farfetched that these badasses who managed to clear Dollet earlier in this story get pushed back by a bunch of redbands. This is where the difference between what is arguably a setting of "urban" warfare and a setting of field warfare comes in. In Dollet, they had the space to use GFs and would be remiss if they didn't rely on para-magic, sharpshooting or GFs, i.e. long-distance engagement. In the orphanage, however, they are squeezed into a tight space. Plus, in Dollet, they were attacking - here, they are defending.
> 
> Ellone's presence is a distraction since she's a non-combatant. Cid just died, so there is that particular distraction as well - they just lost their father. While their way out, the front door, is open, they are more or less beseiged by the rebands out back. They can try to brute force their way through, sure, but the windows and the back door are their only exit points and they are well-covered by the redbands. They could use Fast or something like that, but, to get to that point, they have to be on the offensive. The redbands' presence puts them on the defensive, which is why they are more focused on repelling the attack rather than pressing it.
> 
> Now, one thing they don't do is try to go out the front door, but that's a bad idea: it'd put them directly into the line of sight of the sharpshooters who kill Cid, and plus they would have to squeeze into the bottleneck that is the front door, i.e. would be sitting ducks.
> 
> Sure, the redbands want them alive, but they don't know that.


	10. Fragments of Memories

Natili Sulla had to admit that the Headmaster’s Office, which she was certain was the _General’s Quarters_ or some pretentious shit like that now, was made to influence whoever sat in the leather chair into feeling powerful. The cavernous dimensions, the lack of furniture other than the customary armchairs for guests, the lack of anything except the viewscreen on the wall, the desk, the chair, and the General.

_No. The Headmaster. It was the Headmaster until he came along._

Yet, sitting in the chair of the Headmaster, Natili felt like she was just a child once again, sifting through the rubble, wondering why her mother’s hand, the only part of her sticking out of the masonry, was cold... why it wouldn’t squeeze back... 

* * *

_(the arm was a separate piece, body not included)_

Crying for hours, lucky to be alive in the small crevice between what once was the ceiling and what once was the wall. Wondering what had happened to her toys, why mommy wouldn’t talk to him. Where daddy even was. Wondering if this game, which she didn’t like at all, would end soon.

_(the game would never end, because peace was ephemeral and war was forever)_

Soldiers coming, sifting through the wreckage, pulling her out. Screaming for them to not leave her parents behind. Kicking and scratching until the officer carrying her had put her down.

_(the severed arm in the dust, slender fingers frozen in rigor, wedding band shining through the muck, blood caked on the other end and if her mother was an arm now, could she keep it?)_

Being dragged to the tents. Just a cot, some ugly clothes, always too big, to wear. Other children there, her friends. Luiz wasn’t there. Luiz was her playmate, with beautiful golden curls that made her jealous. She wasn’t coming, they told her, she had gone away. Far, far away.

_(three days in the new playground, like the old playground, only dead)_

The man with the scar on his face coming to visit her when she was in those military-style, ugly, green tents, sipping water from a play cup. Sitting with the other children, too tired to play games, too confused to even formulate a question to ask those men and women in soldier’s uniforms coming in and going out. In and out, in and out, like the ants she had seen once, scurrying around to carry food before winter killed them all.

Wondering if this was like pre-school, if mommy and daddy would come to pick her up soon.

_(school was over when the Guardian Force had stomped on her home, just like Ira would on her sandcastles when they went to the Dollet beach.)_

The man with the scar asking her what her name was. He was wearing a uniform too, with a shiny medal on his chest. He had his friends with him. All with the same medal, the uniform, the same tired looks on their faces, the same wincing when they moved a certain way. The blonde with the cane and hair that could rival Luiz. The brunette with the funny hair and stupid smile and lame jokes. The blonde man, also with a scar on his face, with the better jokes, the better laugh, the wicked games. The redhead with the guns strapped to her waist – the cool one, the quiet one who called her own friends “sir,” even if they were girls.

_(Brea Willings, the youngest; maybe she was the daughter of one of them, maybe the near-bald man with the scar was her father and maybe he’d want to be their father too if they were nice)_

Playing “Sorceress” in the streets, wondering why all the places she knew were broken, or just gone, now.

* * *

Natili was always the Sorceress.

_(Luiz’s hair was magic, why not her)_

Ira was always her Knight – he’d wear his blanket for a cape. No rules, but one. No metal. Rebars hurt too bad. There were lots of tree branches instead. The militia of children, armed to the teeth with branches and sticks, and her, with stones gathered in her skirt. Pebbles, each one a spell. They’d stand on a hill, her and Ira, until the tear-o-wrists (that’s what the President lady called them) came to attack. One last stand and the Brave Sir Knight (like in that old movie) rising up to protect her.

Kill the sorceress. Kill the sorceress.

_(Kill the sorceress, kill her, kill her before she makes other children’s mothers arms, kill her before she does bad things, kill her, the Sorceress must not live)_

Never winning the game and always winning.

_(The only good Sorceress is a dead one.) _

* * *

Learning a new word: SeeD. That was what the tear-o-wrists were called, and they weren’t bad people - they were soldiers. Like the Galbadian ones, but with cooler uniforms and they had nobody to lead them but the man with the scar, that they called Lee-on Heart. Funny name, like lion-heart.

SeeD fought the Sorceress, they said. They were better than the lame old soldiers, they were stronger. They had saved the world. Bewilderment at the idea: imagine that, the whole world!

_(They killed the Sorceress.)_

They got money for being heroes, for fighting, for having fun being tear-o-wrists. The President Lady wasn’t fun, Natili had seen her. She was all shouting and big words she couldn’t understand. But these SeeDs were fun. They got to boss the other soldiers around. They got money to buy things to do all that – she could buy anything she wanted.

_(She could buy her mother a body)_

They had a cool place in the ocean, floating above the water, moving along with the seagulls she had seen in an encyclopedia. They could go to Dollet any time they wanted. It was a school, but they called it a garden. SeeDs stayed there, they lived in their magical (no, not magic, never magic, magic is evil) school that was called a garden.

_(They were taught to kill the Sorceress.)_

Finding the lion heart man in the streets, telling him she wanted to be a SeeD. A swordfighter, she said, she’d defeat the Knight herself this time. She’d be the best, and all her friends from the ugly tents, they wanted to join too. They wanted to be cool. They wanted to be grown ups. They wanted to play their war games for real.

_(They wanted to kill the Sorceress for real.)_

The man with the scar asking her to punch him. Hesitation – hitting people who weren’t being mean to you was bad. But it was a test, he said, if she could hit him good, right in his scarred face, then she could be a SeeD and be cool. Not otherwise.

_(A small punch for a child, just to summon in him the pain of a martial artist shooting himself in the head because he didn’t know how to exist anymore)_

Passing the test. Being sent back, excited to tell everyone she had passed the test, she’d be a SeeD now, she’d be a SeeD. 

* * *

Ocean Garden. The school that was a garden. Liking the red strips of cloth the Galbadian soldiers had tied to their arms (Kelle had had a bad cut there, but when her white band had turned red, all the children had wanted one) too much to let it go. They all wore one, and they all felt special, knowing that they were in this together.

Dormitory assignments. Missing Luiz. She would have loved it there.

_(Luiz has gone far, far away) _

* * *

Training. Day in and day out. Physical, mental. Studying for written exams while trying not to pass out from exhaustion. Playing war games with the other children who, like her, were growing up in the Garden, stranger and stranger to the other children they saw on shore leave trips. Learning about war, about fighting, about weapons. Learning about killing.

Practicing endlessly on her own, sessions with her Instructors and Squall Leonhart and Seifer Almasy, learning to feel at home when holding a sword. Birthdays marked by her friends remembering. Gifts turning from trinkets and interesting shells from the Training Center to sharpening tools, wrist guards, wound salves.

_(Preparing for war because peace is ephemeral and war is forever)_

Years passing by in a blur of making ready to wage war, some marked with small, almost insignificant events. Getting ready to be a SeeD. 

* * *

Then one day, a book. An innocent passage in a compulsory text.

_“The Succession is crucial for the Sorceress. In order for a Sorceress to pass on, she must surrender her powers to another woman.”_

_(Poor woman that would never accept this without being coerced, without being forced, nobody would want to be an abomination)_

_“A Sorceress will remain between life and death, unable to heal from her wounds and unable to die, unless Succession takes place. The only exception to this that has been found was with Sorceress Delia, who has reportedly committed suicide.”_

_(Kill the sorceress, make her kill herself, make her understand what an abomination she is)_

_“Thus, barring suicide, a Sorceress must have a Successor. It is of note that the Balamb Garden’s Law has adopted this as a means for the Headmaster to retire. Cid Kramer has made it so that in order for a Headmaster to retire, he or she must name their successor.”_

* * *

A question.

_(If Sorceress Rinoa is dead and the record shows she didn’t kill herself, why is her successor not known?)_

An answer.

_(Because it is.)_

An extension.

_(Squall Leonhart knows who she is.)_

A realization.

_(Squall Leonhart is harboring a Sorceress.)_

A truth.

_(The Sorceress must die.)_

* * *

The scavenger hunt. For two years, in their first field assignments, guarding Cupola, guarding Deling, learning drills with Dollet soldiers, learning how to squeeze booze out of Timber bartenders, learning to show up for duty and be sharp as a razor while hungover.

Searching far and wide. Learning to search Library indexes in under ten seconds. Learning about authors, about finding more of them. Reading the same things over and over and over again, the Third Sorceress War unfolding inside them every time, taking Natili back to when her mother was just an arm. Buying drinks to the wounded veterans in dive bars just to see if they remembered anything.

_(There’s nothing, he buried it, he buried it and made sure it stayed buried, you bastard I trusted you)_

Ira coming in one day, telling her of the Leonhart Archives. A hidden archival block in the Library’s systems, inaccessible to anyone below the rank of Lieutenant General, that he had managed to crack, only to find that it was nothing but a string of meaningless symbols.

_(It’s not meaningless because it’s a clue for others, not us, but the real one is here, it has to be, we have to know, the Sorceress must not live)_

Rze, stationed in Dollet, calling her room to tell her that the Duke had a library filled with old volumes, among which were his own diaries dating decades back. His own personal collection and the key to finding out what they wanted to know.

_(You bastard you bastard you bastard you kept it from me all these years you bastard I looked up to you and I trusted you and I followed you and you betrayed me)_

A plan. Long term, difficult to execute, and complete with the caveat that it involved getting other, innocent people involved with the express purpose of getting them killed. Old soldiers and civilian-veterans of the Third War, patriots drinking themselves to death on government welfare, a militia of the sorriest bunch to throw at the SeeD, at Squall Leonhart just to keep him busy, just to get them to step up and die.

_(You bastard look at me you made me a monster)_

The price. None of them thought it was too high.

_(You bastard)_

* * *

As Natili’s thoughts looped, Ira came in through the double doors, hands in his pants’ pockets, cigarette dangling from his lips. She smiled.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“They’re here.”

“In the Garden!?”

“No. They’re circling, just out of range.”

Natili’s smile widened.

“Perfect.” She said, “Weapons free. Make them work for it. You know what to do.”

“Sure.” Ira said.

He tossed his cigarette down, onto the carpet, and stomped it out.

“Any word from our Centran detachment?” Natili asked.

“Just docked. We have everything Odine had on the Sorceress, she’s with Beta and Gamma.”

“And the witch-kin?”

“What, Ellone Loire?”

Natili nodded.

“With Edea." Ira said, "Too shaken up to try anything, and besides, her powers don’t work that way... from what I hear.”

“Can’t be too careful.” Natili said, “Took us two years to get here. Let’s not fuck it up by trusting a witch to be good, yeah?”


	11. Intruders

The Ragnarok was like a bird of prey, drawing a neat, slightly mobile circle in the skies above Ocean Garden. Its counter-clockwise rotation was Selphie’s mind, slowly easing into the rhythm of her target: the hangar entrance. She had seen the moment it had entered visual range that the armored blast doors were closed. Closed, but not impenetrable. She knew from experience that The Ragnarok was a wonderful and powerful piece of machinery, but the defense batteries that lazily followed her as she drew circles in the air were a problem. The thick, gleaming barrels turning on their axes had come in handy during the Second Deling Offensive, and Selphie had seen what they could do. Even the Ragnarok couldn’t stand a steady pummeling by them.

She concentrated. Two more rounds and she’d be able to try for the entrance. Her thumb flicked over the weapons switch, and the gentle humming of weapons being primed boosted her confidence. She licked her lips. One more circle, just one more...

* * *

The Ragnarok dove, piercing the air, becoming a red blur, descending fast. The batteries on their side began firing immediately, those who had not completed their rotation were silent. Immediately, one of the tails took a hit that shook the spacecraft, but Selphie was ready. She gave the Ragarok a spin, tracing a tangent to her right. The spaceship spun like a drill as it corrected, its nose scraping the water as it did. The shower of shells followed her as she kept spinning, hands glued to the steering. She completed the line to a semi circle, shaking all occupants behind her.

The batteries on their side all brought to bear, Selphie began zig-zagging back to the center, making the Ragnarok do full flips, trying to be half a second ahead of the shells. Every maneuver, she tilted her angle slightly more, slightly more, slightly more until finally, she kicked the thrusters into high gear and sent Ragnarok tearing towards the hangar gates.

Selphie pulled the trigger as she kept moving, kept drawing irregular lines within the same area, keeping her eyes on the prize. The twin gattling barrels of the Ragnarok roared and unleashed a barrage of solid shells that caused sparks to fly out of the gates.

A shell struck Ragnarok’s side, taking one of its arms – it diverted Selphie’s aim, just for a second, but the second proved to be crucial. The hangar was too close, she couldn’t back out as there was no room, so she made call.

Selphie punched it, pushing down the trigger and pushing Ragnarok forward towards the hangar gates.

“Brace for impact!”

* * *

Ragnarok slammed right into the line separating the two sides of the gates, the sheer velocity of it enough to push its nose inside. Selphie’s hands were gripping the helm white-knuckle tight as the entire spaceship lurched forward and broke through, sending the mutilated blast gates aside. One of the gun batteries snapped and the ammunition deposit exploded in the ship’s side, which was when Selphie, shaking, her ears ringing from the groaning of the hangar gates and the Ragnarok, switched off all thruster power.

Ragnarok flipped, crashed, bounced and flipped once more before settling down and beginning to slide across the hangar floor and towards the wall. Those inside were jerked around, their bodies tugging at the safety belts with every movement, as the spaceship tore right through hovercrafts and carriers on the way. The crunching and screeching of metal shrieked through the infernal noise. Selphie saw sparks coming out of the nose through the windshield.

“_Oh shi_-“

Ragnarok crashed against the wall, and its nose flattened. The cockpit began to stretch inwards, and the windshield shattered, sending hundreds of tiny shards all around. Selphie clenched her teeth and lifted her arms to shield herself. Disoriented, she tried to sense if they were still moving, but the loud groaning that reverberated through the cockpit and echoed in the hangar made it difficult to sense anything.

It wasn’t until she felt something soft brush clumsily across her knee that Selphie dared to open her eyes.

Squall, strapped in and, by the looks of things, just as turned around as her, was trying to reach for the comm console. Selphie looked at it. It was dead, crushed when the dash had collapsed.

“They’ll come, they’ll come!” Selphie said, unsure as to why she was screaming, “You don’t need to tell them!”

“I won’t.”

* * *

Seifer unbuckled first. He stood up a bit too fast and ended up clinging to the back of the seat in front of his for support. There was a ringing in his ears, and he hoped he hadn’t blown out an eardrum in the meantime. He glanced down the row. Some seats had been thrown onto the aisle, the floor, ceiling and sides were bent at strange angles, some showing the wiring beneath the plating, but otherwise, everything looked more or less intact. He glanced at Brea, who was in the process of unclasping the buckle of her safety belt. Once she was free, she immediately stood up, but much to Seifer’s mild annoyance, seemed to have no problem standing.

“You alright?” Seifer asked Brea.

“Yes, sir. Yourself?”

“I’ll live. Did the weapons cache survive?”

“It should be intact, sir.” Brea said.

“Then let’s go.” 

* * *

Seifer and Brea found the weapons cache, just underneath the stairs that led to the cockpit, dislodged from its slot in the wall. The outer casing was scuffed and caved at parts but, as Brea had predicted, it was intact. He knelt down next to it, and found that it was a miracle of Hyne that they weren’t looking at a mess of weapons, as the lock was busted. He flipped the switch that opened it, and retrieved two gunblades. He set one down and tossed the Morning Star to Brea. 

* * *

Selphie had just unbuckled herself and was trying to decide how best to get out of the cockpit when Seifer and Brea came into the cockpit, both very much alive, and Brea handed her the Morning Star. Squall took his gunblade from Seifer and unbuckled his safety belt.

“That has got to be the second worst landing I’ve been in.” Seifer said.

“Tough shit, ‘least we landed...” Selphie replied.

“Which was the worst one?” Squall asked.

Seifer grinned. “Didn’t happen yet, but I’m sure she’s gonna top this one someday.”

“Are you injured, sir?” Brea asked Squall.

“No.” Squall replied, “Since it’s the four of us, and since they haven’t stormed the hangar yet, I suggest we go all out. Blunt force.”

“What, go through them?” Selphie sighed, “All of them?”

“Not much room for strategy, yeah.” Seifer chuckled, “Well, it’s us against the world again.”

Brea, in a moment of practical inspiration, tried the button that controlled the ramp – it was located on an extension of the helm, and was in one piece. Much to their luck, the ramp still worked... to a degree. They heard it moaning as it began to open, which was followed by the sound of the pneumatics straining, which ended with the sound of the ramp dislodging itself from the ship and falling down with a loud clang.

“Better than nothing, I guess.” Selphie said, “Take it or leave it.”

They made their way through the ship, passing by the damage they had inflicted upon it, and wondering if it could even be fixed, being the sole survivor of a unique series, the design specs of which Odine had taken with him when he had defected to Rinoa.

_Times like these I really wish we hadn’t executed the bastard, _Squall thought.

They found the ramp gone, but the leap down wasn’t too high. They leapt down and took a moment to survey the scene, all alert. The hangar gates had been broken, leaving a Ragnarok-sized gap, its pieces scattered across the open space. The wreckages made of the transport units they had run through were merely unrecognizable hunks of twisted metal. There was the eternal hum, the ambient echo of the vast area, but otherwise, no sound and nobody.

They fell into formation without a word. Squall took the lead and they went around the spaceship’s wreckage. When they got to the inner gate, Squall dug into his pocket and found that his keycard was gone. Sighing at the prospect of going through the wreckage to find it, he punched in the eight-digit master code onto the access panel on the wall. The inner gates opened. They took a deep breath, almost in unison, and went into the hallway.

Six feet was as far as they went. 

* * *

Natili Sulla was waiting for them, clogging the hallway with a large cadre of redbands, all armed to the teeth. Squall came to a halt, an action mirrored by Selphie and Seifer.

Ira was currently holding Ellone. Her hands were tied behind her back, her mouth was gagged with his arm band, and she had a knife to her throat. Squall spied an ugly bruise on her left temple. The look he gave Natili could kill lesser adversaries. It could make Odin himself break and run. But not her.

_“They want us alive. I can see it in their minds.”_

_No you can’t. Because this is why they wanted the both of you alive. To weaponize you._

Brea stepped forward. Her arm snapped up, and she trained her sights on Ira.

“I have a clean shot, sir.” She said, “I can drop him.”

Natili slowly lifted her hands, palms upward. She caught Squall’s gaze and asked, silently, _what now?_

“Sir, I can drop him.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake...” a flash and Natili had added a second dagger to Ellone’s neck, which was followed a split second later by Brea bringing her other pistol to bear.

“I can drop them _both_.” Brea snarled, “Just give the order.”

Ellone was shaking where she stood, and Ira’s hand on her arm was her only anchor. Tears were streaming down her face as her eyes, big as the moon, pleaded silently to not let them kill her. Her muffled whimpering screamed, every passing second, _I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die please brother please don’t let them kill me please save me save me save me save me_

Brea’s hands were steady as a surgeon’s, and her fingers were itching to pull. The curve of the trigger was so inviting, so warm... in Ellone’s eyes she saw the same fear she had seen in the Duke’s family, in the eyes of his children; in Ellone’s silent pleading, she saw reflections of that painful, infernal week in Esthar during the War. The demure, gentle, kind woman who only worried that she was a burden for those trying desperately to find her little brother, in pain every day and still there, still standing, still fighting.

_I’m not a soldier,_ she had said to Brea once, _I don’t fight wars. I don’t think I was made for that. I just try to do my part._

Having spent her childhood with a soldier, having been an object of war more than once, here and now, Brea saw an innocent, caught in the crossfire, who could be saved by dropping those in her crosshairs, now.

Squall was silent, as was the hall. You could hear a pin dropping.

“Sir!” Brea snapped.

When Squall spoke, his voice was barely a murmur. “Stand down.”

“Sir-“

“Stand down, Brea.”

“I can do it!” Brea shouted, the fury in her voice making Squall jump and Selphie flinch, “Just let me shoot and it’s fucking _over!_”

A moment of hesitation.

“You have your orders.” Squall said.

Brea’s face slowly turned towards Squall and in it, Squall saw a mixture of emotions: disappointment, disbelief, anger, sadness... hurt.

Brea turned back to Natili and Ira, who looked unaffected, but Selphie could see that they were sweating. None of them had heard Brea talk like that to him. Then, she exhaled.

“Yes, sir.”

Brea spun the pistols around her fingers, let them dangle from the trigger guard as she lifted her hands up. Two redbands rushed forward and took her weapons.

“Good soldier.” Squall said. Brea didn’t respond. Squall turned to Natili as she withdrew her dagger, “Your move, Sulla.”

Natili grinned.

“Take them to the brig.”

* * *

They took their weapons. Natili took the time personally rip their medals from their chests. They were all handcuffed and shoved along by the redbands, pushed forward, down the corridor and towards the elevator shaft. The only ones there to see their humiliation were, mercifully, Natili’s guard.

They went in groups of two. Ellone and Squall first. Selphie and Brea second. Seifer, by himself, last; a luck-of-the-draw opportunity that he took to headbutt one of his guards, breaking her nose and earning himself a new headache. He got hit a couple of times, mostly in his stomach cavity, but by then he had learned what he wanted to learn already.

When they got to the brig, Seifer saw that the block to his right was already open, and two guards, one at the desk and one at the entrance, were waiting. They took him down the cells, and in passing Seifer saw that they were breaking protocol and jailing them together.

As they pushed him through Matron’s cell, Seifer saw that she was not beaten, or if she was, she didn’t show any damage. There was a collar around her neck, made of a gleaming, silvery metal. In a flash Seifer recalled the Odineum stuff Squall had managed to coax out of Dr. Odine before the war had kicked off – one of which, was the Odine Collar.

What struck him more than the collar was her face: expressionless. Her eyes were empty.

They put Seifer in a cell directly facing Selphie who, even as he was settling in, was too busy inspecting every inch of her cell. Seifer smiled. At least someone was still fighting.

They didn’t speak for a while. Seifer could hear Ellone trying to stifle her sobs, failing miserably, but trying to stand strong. Selphie was still looking around, trying to find something in the cell she had helped design, build and test that’d allow her to get out.

After five minutes, Seifer decided to be the bastard who spoke out. “They want us alive for something.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Selphie asked, fingers twiddling with the panel of the keycard slot on the cell door.

“Didn’t say I knew that, Messenger Girl. But they bet on us not risking Ellone, and not figuring out they wouldn’t kill her anyway. I’d say, good game.”

“That doesn’t help us, honey.” Quistis’ voice came from the cell to the right of his, “I don’t think I want to wait to find out what for.”

“Public execution.” Squall said, “Most probably.”

“No, fuck that!” Selphie said, “I’m not swingin’ from any rope anytime soon!”

“I think we can try something.” Quistis said, “I mean, if the aim wasn’t to leave us here to rot.”

“What I wanna know,” Seifer said, “, is how your oh-so great Leonhart plan failed.”

“They opened the archive.” Squall said, “I went to the Hall of Martyrs before we left for Centra. Zell’s blood vial... it’s gone. They broke into his tomb and took it. They figured it out.”

“But how did they even know where it was!?” Quistis asked, “That it existed, sure, but where the terminal actually was? How the fuck did they know?”

“They had two years, at least.” Selphie said. She sat down on her cot and crossed her legs, “That’s when the Totalist bullshit started.”

“Searching the place top to bottom, hm.” Seifer thought about it, “Yeah, they’d have enough time to find it.”

“Whatever. That’s not important anymore.” Squall sighed, “They found it and then they played the long game. Threw field exams, all the way until...”

“Until what, sir?” Brea said, her voice bitter.

“Shit.” Squall said, “Dollet.”

“We were there, you know.” Seifer sighed, “We know.”

“No, not the exam, the Duke’s mansion.” Squall said, “Think about it – what is the one source of information we hadn’t been able to tamper with over the years? We altered every text on this planet. All of it, except...”

“The Duke’s personal diaries. Shit.” Seifer mentally kicked himself, “You’re right. Hours of arguing this and that, just to have him say no. Well, worked out just fucking fine in the end.”

“But why pull the PR stunt with the tape?” Quistis asked, “That, the bar-hopping you told me about... why paint him as a traitor, as the enemy?”

“To have support after they overthrew us.” Squall said, “To be safe from accusations of power-mongering, from mutiny. They’ll probably say I was aiding and abetting a Sorceress and you all were complicit. A just cause.”

“Well that’s all fine and dandy, just one problem.” Selphie said, “Why drag Ellone into this? What’s the endgame?”

Nobody had the answer and so nobody spoke for a while.

* * *

Selphie gave up trying to find a means of escape. She remembered ticking off boxes one by one on how an imprisoned cadet, or someone else, might find a way, but the only method she had left was outside help, which would not be coming. Seifer took the opportunity to rest and although he couldn’t exactly sleep, he could still withdraw just a little. Quistis went over everything in her head, again and again, trying to find a focus point. Ellone, having regained her composure, simply stared at her hands, thinking of Uncle Laguna and thinking about how surrounding herself with soldiers had always led to this.

Brea felt somewhat naked without her pistols. She was perfectly still, sitting on her cot. She could still see the scene unfolding: two bullets, nothing more, and the situation would have been different.

"Why didn't you let me?" Brea asked.

Squall lifted his head, "I couldn't risk it. One wrong twitch... I don't want a repeat of what happened in Dollet."

Brea fell back into silence. Squall returned to staring at the wall. Soon, he had no thoughts on anything but the war. Peace was ephemeral, war was forever. It reminded him of a parable his father had told him, a few years ago and over drinks, on the porch of his house in Cupola. It went something like...

“You should not have.”

Squall’s ears perked. Edea had finally broken her silence.

“Matron?”

“You should not have kept the truth about me a secret. Secrets have a way of finding their way out. I buried Daniel, in more ways than one – did it keep you from it, Squall?”

“Matron,” Selphie said, “We only did it to protect you.”

“Do I look like a child? Or a helpless vicim?” Edea replied, “I am a Sorceress. I am perfectly capable of defending myself.”

“I hid everything, because I saw what they would... _have_... become.” Squall said, “That was what the archive was for – a clue for the remote possibility that you lost control after we were dead and buried, but otherwise... Matron, an entire generation: orphaned, traumatized, angry. They didn’t want to be SeeD because they felt like it, or because that was what orphans are wont to do, they wanted to become SeeD so they could grow up, find you and kill you. They were focused on this task from the start. I did the one thing I could do: I hid it away. Just the archive, for mad days... it was just a contingency.”

“I could have faced them myself as easily.” Edea said.

“Why didn’t you resist?” Quistis asked.

“What was there to resist?” Edea replied, “Do you truly believe that resisting, or killing them all would stop it? Or that it would even slow them down? They would keep coming until either I or they were dead, and it wouldn’t benefit either side. See it’s...” her voice quivered for an instant, an instant that made Squall shiver, “...it’s very simple. So simple, that I wish, I wish Cid didn’t have to die for it.” She choked, “I wish he didn’t have to die for me. Not for me... no. Not for me.”

“Matron, please...” Squall said, “I only did it to keep you safe, I did the best I coul-“

“Ultimecia was right.” Edea said.

Silence fell like a hammer blow, sucking the air out of the room.

“Rinoa was right also.” Edea continued, “SeeD. This is about SeeD.”

“M-Matron?” Ellone’s voice came from her cell, every word shaking.

“Like locusts SeeD swarms, ever breeding, ever devouring.” The springs in her cot creaked, signaling that she had stood up, “The apex predator – that is SeeD. We are all victims, waiting in line.”

The Odine collar detached itself, and fell to the floor with a loud clang. The other prisoners were beginning to feel tense – as the amount of black magic energy in the cell block increased, they began to feel anxiety and fear clawing its way up to their throats.

Edea’s voice boomed, vibrating with alien frequencies, bouncing off the walls – she spoke in many voices, whispering, shouting, murmuring, begging...

_“The moment you took my Knight from me, you were dead, all of you. The moment you made the mistake of showing me the truth, leading me to clarity – you all fall down. Finally, I feel...” _she laughed. Ellone cupped her hands over her ears to shut the sound out, _“...free. No strings attached... unleashed at last.”_

A soft vibration, invisible but felt through and through, overtook them as Edea stepped right through the bars and stood in the middle of the cell block.

_“It is a shame that so much had to be lost before I could finally confess myself. But now, there is one thing that must be done for me to slip the last of my surly bonds...”_

She stepped in front of Squall’s cell. Squall’s eyes widened. Her hair was floating in the air, as if she was immersed in water, and the tips of the strands were luminous, displaying all colors across the spectrum. Her eyes, now full of rainbow prism reflections, full of energy, full of magic, full of hatred and anger and spite and wrath... looking at him, looking into his mind, his soul...

_“SeeD.” _She said, _“SeeD must cease to exist.”_

“Matron, don’t!” Squall blurted out, feeling panic flood him, “I can help you! We can still stand by you, we can be your knights, your cult, whichever you need! Those up there, they’re just children! Misguided, stupid, hateful children!”

_“They, corpses and all, would seek to destroy me. As if they could.”_

“It was my fault!” Squall said, throwing himself at the bars, forcing himself closer to her, “I am the one that made the mistake! I should never have tried to bury you, I should never have hesitated with Rinoa, it’s all my fault! Why would you punish _them_ for it?”

Edea raised an eyebrow.

_“And what makes you think I will simply punish them and be done with it, child?”_

“Matron, please, let me-“

An invisible force threw Squall off his feet and into the wall.

_“The time for this has passed, child. They drew first blood. I will repay their transgression, greater than they know, in kind. It ends here, one way or another.”_


	12. Retaliation

Standing with one hand on the handle of her sword, Natili felt satisfied with the scene around her. It was morning still, and the skies above were pure blue, not a cloud in sight. The cadets and SeeDs around her, all armed, both for security and ceremonial reasons, were filling up the main area. The fountain that stood in the middle of which was now the base of a scaffolding that would serve as the execution ground. It was a low stage, one could easily climb up if one was standing next to it, and it didn’t serve a purpose but to provide a spectacle. After all, Natili remembered the spectacle they had made of the Fated Children after the war, well into the reconstruction. Television appearences, live broadcast of their medals being handed out by the retired headmaster, now dead...

Natili frowned. Cid Kramer’s death hadn’t been part of the plan. The Duke had been a calculated risk, but Cid Kramer was not supposed to have died. She dismissed her discomfort quickly – the Sorceress’ Knight was always the first to fall. She glanced at Ira, going around the stage and checking to see if it was sturdy enough, and remembered how many times he had fallen in her name.

_I’ll play the game again. But I am not the Sorceress this time, and I am still going to win._

“Careful with that!” Ira’s voice came, “Alright, just fasten it, screw it in, and we’re done, the stage is set.”

Natili grinned widely.

Ah, the feeling of revolution.

Traitors imprisoned, a public execution for the Sorceress and Deling vindicated... Natili was enjoying herself, more than she remembered ever having had. She was almost giddy with the prospect of what was about to take place – a turning point in history... and it would be by her hand. In some strange way, she knew that she would also be cleansing Squall Leonhart’s sins, doing away with the first mistake he had made at the start of the path that had made him who he was today. The irony was not lost on her: he had started by failing in Deling City.

_I guess everything does come full circle._

Natili turned to the stage, and that was when she noticed that the color blue was fading from the sky, as if slowly being tainted by the black, like a tide coming in, to replace it. The sensors embedded into the structure picked it up and responded by turning on the lights that illuminated the main area at night, one by one. Those surrounding her were looking around, puzzled, weapons at the ready. Natili made eye contact with Ira.

_What is this? _She silently asked him, _A trick? Did they get out?_

With the sky pitch-black and the lights working at full force, stretching the shadows out, there was a moment of silence.

The voice, ululating through the open space, echoing, shattered it to pieces.

_"You want me? Here I am!”_

All weapons raised to the source of the voice, which seemed to be the stage, but there was no target for them to attack. Those standing further away got into formation by reflex.

_“Did you think for one second that you are heroes? Did you think your cause righteous? Your actions just? I spare no pity for any one of you.”_

“What the fuck..?” Natili murmured, “Is that the Sorceress? Everyone, stand ready!”

Edea rose gracefully from beneath the stage, passing through solid stone and metal and wood like they were nothing, floating gently upwards. Those closer to her shivered, as the temperature in her immediate vicinity had taken a sudden plunge.

Upon getting her in visual range, the sharpshooters – barrels were brought to bear, aiming squarely for Edea, while swordfighters and martial artists, one by one, took their opening stances.

Floating ten feet above the stage, Edea lifted both arms and hissed:

_“Stop.”_

The spell radiated from her, spreading out in every direction, arresting all movement without discrimination. Natili felt her body seize up. He sword was halfway to the stance, and she found that she couldn’t move a muscle.

_“You can’t kill me.” _Edea said, her voice making their blood run cold, _“My life is not yours to take, but yours... that’s a different matter entirely. You sought to fight the Sorceress... I will give you the opportunity.”_

As the helpless SeeDs and cadets watched, Edea began to glow. An icy blue aura surrounded her body, glistening, and began to pulsate. Slowly, it began to expand – protrusions from various parts of her, like strands of hair in the water, emerged. They spread out, and to her horror, Natili realized what they were: tentacles, tendrils, pure black magic touch...

_“Come forth, if you dare.”_ Edea said, _“Dispel.”_

* * *

The cell block was the echo chamber of a cacophony. Seifer was trying brute strength as a method of breaking open their cells. The metallic clanging of kicks, punches and body slams reverberated through the narrow hallway between the cells. Ellone was huddled in a corner, on the cot, holding her knees.

“Fuck! Come on!” Seifer said, taking a step back to see if he had made a dent. Of course he hadn’t.

“No use, Seif.” Selphie said, “We designed these ourselves.”

“Fuck that!” Seifer spat, “There has,” he kicked the door, “,got to,” again, “be,” once more, “a way! Fuck!”

The lights of the cell block went out. Before anyone could react, a series of loud, metallic clacks echoed throughout the corridor. The cell doors were open. 

* * *

“Get back, _get the fuck back!_” Natili shouted. The scene was chaos – cadets and SeeDs were running for cover, standing in place as if frozen, or trying desperately to remember how their weapons functioned. Lacking the iron clad will and rock solid training of the veterans that they despised, they made easy targets for the Sorceress, who hadn’t even moved from where she was as she dispatched them one by one.

Edea was a monolith, glowing in icy blue, her black magic tentacles lashing and catching SeeDs and cadets alike; once it touched someone, a tendril slithered around their body to stop them from moving, and slowly covered them in the glow before lifting them up, and letting another, newly born tentacle take its place. The whipping extensions randomly dove into the crowd, wounding some, spilling their blood and drinking every drop, and outright killing others. As they fell, her other victims were hovering in the air, unmoving and seemingly a part of the majestic and terrifying edifice that Sorceress Edea was.

_“Is this all the fight that is in you? Is this all the fury and malice you can muster!? Pathetic! You sought the Sorceress, and now I am here, and you can’t even fight me! Is this what SeeD has become?”_

A few shots went off in response, each of them bouncing right off of her aura.

_“Begin praying.”_

“Fuck you!” a few shouted, almost in unison. Edea’s response was to catch those immediately. She tossed some of them to the other side of the building and into the air so much like rag dolls. A few, she kept and junctioned to herself.

Natili found that she could not move. It was not a spell, not anymore. She was not caught – her body just wasn’t responding. The sword in her hand felt useless, a meaningless chunk of metal. 

_But I was... I was always the Sorceress, I..._

All thought deserted her and fear filled the void. Natili turned around and ran, kicking and elbowing her way through the soon-to-be-lost comrades, her friends and allies – she ran towards the Dormitories.

_“Run, little girl!” _Edea exclaimed with glee, her voice swirling around the runaway, _“Run for your wretched life!”_

Edea’s resounding laughter followed her all the way into the dark. 

* * *

“Sis!” Squall shouted as emergency lights, dull and dead, kicked in, “Stay where you are!”

“B-but...”

“Please.”

Ellone hung her head as the others got out of their cells.

“I’ll stay.” Ellone said, “Just please come back for me.”

“I will.” Squall said.

Squall turned to see Brea standing right next to him, along with Selphie, Quistis and Seifer.

“Brea, I...”

“What are my orders, sir?” Brea asked with a gentle smile and Squall felt clarity return. He straightened his back.

“Our weapons are in the locker.” He said, “We each take one, and see what’s up.”

“I don’t even have a weapon, get out of my way!” Quistis said and brushed past them.

Seifer, grinning with one eye closed, said, “As the blonde goes, so goes my nation!” before hurrying after her.

“Permission to go on ahead, sir?” Brea asked Squall.

“Granted.”

Brea ran after them.

Squall and Selphie stood in the corridor.

* * *

Silence had fallen in the Ocean Garden. Edea, hovering over the makeshift stage, was slowly draining the cadets and SeeDs, and finding out with each new bite that they had not been worth the concern. As she junctioned their skill sets, the moves of the martial artists and sword fighters, the perspective of sharpshooters, intricate knowledge of para-magic that she did not need at all, their training... Edea was disappointed.

She had only a few left in her clutches, and the rest were lying sprawled across the marble floors next to their weapons; the weapons that they hadn’t even found the courage to use. Above her, the dark skies whispered and gusts of wind came spiraling in, moving nothing, just howling through the empty space.

Inside of Edea, a star had gone supernova. The raw feeling of black magic was indescribable. It took her back to those days with Ultimecia, days before Daniel’s demise and reminded her of the sin: not the boy, no, but the sheer pleasure she had taken in her experimentations and summoning rituals. It was akin to lust, in the way that if a soul could lust, it would then lust after this – the purest of all pure pleasures, an unrestrained energy coursing through her entire being.

_And to think that I allowed them to deprive me of this... it was for Cid’s sake more than anyone else’s, but they have seen to that. It is strange – once, as Ultimecia possessed me, I thought that I would have done anything, given anything, to not be what I am and now, I can’t think of anything else that I have been or would ever want to be._

She cast her gaze on the fallen. She shrugged.

_You are nothing... nothing at all._

_“And I... am everything.”_

She closed her eyes and began to hum a tune, enraptured in the moment.

* * *

Selphie spoke first. “Please, tell me we’re not going up there to bring her down.”

Squall looked into her eyes, and saw what made his heart break, but it felt to him like an old wound, come to haunt him on a rainy day.

“Do you want me to lie?” he asked.

Selphie’s eyes widened. She hesitated. Then, she said;

“Lie to me.”

Squall bridged the gap and held her, hands around her waist and kissed her, long and deep. When he withdrew, he could see a teardrop sliding down her cheek.

“We’re not going up there to bring her down.” He said.

“Hey! Are you guys taking a nap over there?” Seifer’s voice came, “Just get the fuck over here!”

“I’m sorry.” Squall told her, and then went down the corridor. She followed, just three steps behind. When they got there, they found Quistis leaning on her cane, her expression impatient. Seifer had his gunblade. Brea had her pistols holstered. Selphie took her nunchuks.

Finally, Squall retrieved his gunblade.

“Let’s go.” He said.

The others followed him into the elevator. It was a bit cramped, but their minds were already working the situation, and as such, they didn’t notice. The elevator doors closed with a hiss, and with the press of a button sequence, a replacement for a keycard, they began to ascend.

When they reached ground level and stepped out, they wished they never had.


	13. The Extreme

Edea was floating in the air, in the center of the makeshift stage, gracefully suspended in the air by a force that flowed from her and around her. All around, SeeDs and cadets of various ages and ranks were keeping her company, kept afloat by a blue-black light that snaked around their limbs and held them firmly. Those who hadn’t been caught (or had been allowed to run) by her were lying splayed out on the ground; either dead, dying or unconscious. Their weapons were still in their hands or on the ground near them.

One of those tied to Edea fell before their eyes, next to her machine gun that clattered uselessly upon the impact. Selphie cringed at the sound of her neck snapping.

Squall clenched his teeth.

_No._

_Not after everything. Not after Deling, after the Sorceress Memorial, after the Galbadia Garden, after Ultimecia, after Rinoa... not after Daniel. No. No. “No.”_

“Squall?” Selphie’s voice.

_Not after what happened to Quistis._

“Sir?” Brea’s voice.

_Not after everything. I deny you._

“Seifer.” Squall said.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think she noticed us yet. Go back. Circle around from the inside. Get into position near the entrance. She stays between you and me. We’re not the front line – hand-to-hand is too dangerous now. We’ll just be in the way. We’ll wait for an opening to strike.”

“_You_ wait just a-“ Quistis began to protest. Squall lifted a hand to silence her.

“You and Selphie will go around as well – take the relative East and West. Quistis, do you need Brea to guard you?”

“I’m not some goddamn invalid, Squall, I-“

“Good. Then you’re on your own.”

Selphie’s hands, delicate hands, found his cheeks. She turned his head to look into his eyes. Squall saw her confusion dissolve, eroded by shock, sorrow, disbelief and a silent plea: don’t do this.

_But I have to._

Tears formed on the corners of her eyes, silently begging him: please. Please. 

_Please don’t_ _do this_, she said.

Squall pushed it all down.

_I won’t let her take everything away from me. I won’t let her make my war, my life, pointless. All this time and all those dead, for what? For this? To end up here?_

“Look, man, I can’t just-“ Seifer began.

“You have your fucking orders.” Squall spat. Seifer opened his mouth, but Quistis’ hand on his shoulder gave him pause. When he turned to look, Quistis shook her head.

“Scramble.” Squall said, “Brea, you stay.”

Selphie took a moment. She rose to the tips of her toes and kissed Squall, short and desperate. She scurried off immediately afterwards, leaving him almost weak in the knees.

In the background, he could hear the hum of her energy pulsating. The gunblade in his hand, the weapon he had devoted his life to, felt like a burden.

“Sir?” Brea asked, glancing at the walkways. The crowd had thinned to the point of stray late-runners. There was only Sorceress Edea and them now.

“Go, Brea. Fire at will. Shoot to kill.”

“Yes, sir!”

Brea stepped forward as Squall withdrew to his position. She wouldn’t draw, not just yet, because for all she knew, the shield around her would protect her anyway.

_First rule of sharpshooting: never too late, never too soon. The bullet that hits its mark is the one fired at precisely the right moment. You can't take a bullet that has been fired back. Once it leaves the barrel, that is it._

Thus, Brea waited. For the right moment. 

* * *

Quistis limped as fast as she could through the corridors, her mind constantly working over infinitestimal distances. She cursed constantly, knowing that she was wasting her breath – one did not shout at a storm and hope that the storm would care. Her cane tapped rhythmically on the ground as she made her way, keeping the rhythm of her rage.

_We did all this to protect you, to keep you from harm’s way. And now you’re here, poised to destroy us all._

_Where did everything go so fucking wrong?_

Discarding her thoughts, Quistis emerged from the arch, and stood two steps from it. She steadied herself. She clocked Selphie emerging from two arches over, her face stone cold, her eyes focused. In that moment, Quistis saw Squall in her. She saw their war, unending.

Quistis took a deep breath.

_Here we go._

That’s when Edea spoke.

* * *

Selphie had the first spell at her fingertips, ready to unleash it, and with it, surrender a part of herself.

_Put your soul in a box and put it away somewhere._

The Limit Break, that Odine had insisted was a byproduct of para-magic use and spiking adrenaline, was for times of absolute despair. Seeing the one she had always thought of as her mother, brilliant tendrils holding the cadets and SeeDs taken arms against her in thrall and herself, in full uniform and ready to kill. She couldn’t remember any moment in her life where she had been more desperate.

But Edea spoke and her voice gave Selphie pause. 

* * *

_"The Fated Children.” _She called out, _“My children. Look at you. Taken up arms to kill me, as if you could! Look at what you’ve become – the orphans of old are now murderers, merciless. Monsters. All wearing the same uniform that you will die in, one day. But do you even know what you’re fated for? Did you ever ask? Wonder?”_

Brea’s palms were itching. Come on, come on...

_“You are fated to kill me. Do you understand? To kill _me_, not him! Not them! I created SeeD so that it would be the end of me when the time came! So that it would be the end of the scourge that was Ultimecia, the scourge that I would become! But now... now I see the truth of you, the truth of what my creation has wrought: war and death. War and death, nothing more!"_

Her accusation hung in the air, palpable, malevolent.

_"For your transgressions, I bring you oblivion. With you, SeeD ends; and with it, the travesty that I have created!”_

* * *

The limp bodies held afloat by Edea were released and they fell to the ground. From where they were standing, the Fated Children had no way of seeing whether they were alive or dead.

It did not matter to them. Not now, not in this moment.

* * *

Quistis drew first. She unleashed a three-fold barrage of micro-missiles, and without waiting for it to hit, she forced the pace, emitting a focused blast from the laser eye. Her body started to itch all over, the offset of the pains that would soon be wracking her head to toe, but she didn’t stop. She followed it up with the gattling gun, the homing lasers, the fire breath.

Pain began to emerge, sending rapid-fire impulses throughout her body.

_I’ll stop you here, even if it kills me._

Selphie joined in, casting LVL 4 spells on triple, using the repetition casts as ample space to weave even more advanced para-magic into the mix. Quistis breathed in, heard her lungs scream and sent ultra waves towards Edea, met up with two more sweeps of the gattling gun.

The gunshots continued after the spell was done, and Quistis saw Brea out of the corner of her eye, pistols drawn, firing out of both barrels.

Quistis clenched her teeth and continued. Two more spells in, she dropped to her knees. She tasted blood, spat it out, clenched her teeth and continued continued. Her burnt fist opened, contorted fingers hanging limply, spasming with the power she was forcing out of herself. She continued.

* * *

Brea pulled her pistols and spun them on her fingers before bringing them to bear and starting to pull. She fired non-stop, taking a step further every two shots, bringing her closer to a shotgun that was lying in the slack grip of an unconscious cadet. Her clips spent, she reached behind her and twirled the clips into the air – with a graceful move, she snapped them into place, clicked the sliders in and continued firing. When her guns clicked, Brea holstered her pistols, rolled, and picked up the shotgun.

In the distance, Quistis was screaming, firing on all cylinders, sending micro missiles, laser eye blasts mixed with regular spells towards Edea, who was countering them with ease.

Brea leveled the shotgun. She aimed, fired, pumped, fired, pumped, every shot sending the stock tapping roughly on her shoulder. She discarded the weapon when it was spent. A chain lighting came her way, which she ducked by throwing herself to the side. She rolled twice, slid on the marble floor and went up to one knee, ready to run. Her eyes scanned the scenery and found two machine guns, a few unconscious bodies away. She launched towards them, rolled to dodge another lightning, and got a hold of them mid-roll. She switched hands to get the handles, aimed and began firing, feeling her wrist joints ache as the vicious kickback rolled them in their joints.

The machine guns clicked. Brea threw them aside as a barrage of Thundaga spells came her way. She shut off her sense of direction and focused on just dodging them, not how.

Quistis’ scream of agony passed her by. _Liutenant General Trepe is down, _she noted, _makes no fucking difference. Just find another gun. Another gun, you useless piece of shit!_

* * *

The pain was unbearable. Quistis felt the combine spell grip her tightly and grind her down to dust, to nothing. She was burning, she was drenched in ice-cold, white-hot fire-ice-water; electricity coursed through her, poison crippled her breath and turned her stomach, wind in her ears made her head spin.

She tried one more time to force a bad breath out, but something snapped in her head. She lurched forward, blood spilling from her nose, pain engulfing everything else. As she saw black spots dancing in front of her eyes, she saw Edea raising a hand. A white light began to glow in her palm and started to expand, building up.

Quistis felt the cold marble floor on her forehead.

She felt peaceful, resigned.

_Great Hyne, this is it. I’m going to die._

In her head, a lullaby was singing her straight into the approaching pitch black, drowning in the brilliant, beautiful white light...

_And when they come for me..._

* * *

Selphie found a remote piece of her mind wishing that she could turn the spell on herself and obliterate all she was, right then and there. She saw Edea turn and then effortlessly dispatch Quistis, shrug her off like she was nothing. She could hear Brea firing away on a machine gun, or two, but she was wasting her bullets. There was an invisible shield around Edea that just shrugged off whatever they threw at her.

_No. Fuck that! Fuck all of that and fuck you! Fuck you!_

"Fuck you!"

Selphie forced the pace, putting everything she had, every ounce of strength and determination into a single spell. She began weaving the runes, preparing for the sheer unrestrained devastation it would wreak in one strike.

A thought kept repeating in her head.

_I love you, Matron. I love you._

Edea’s head snapped in her direction and a smile formed on her face. Selphie kept working the spell, quickening her fingers.

_“I don’t think so, child.”_ Edea said.

The sorceress lifted her hand and Selphie saw before her eyes the rune-string unravel itself, drifting off into individual pieces, becoming useless, becoming _nothing - _a split second before a blinding white light engulfed her and it all went black.

* * *

There it was, through the curtain of blinding energy, gleaming in the cracking lightning, pristine, untouched. An Exeter. Brea redoubled her efforts, dancing around Edea’s volley of magic, and managed to duck down to retrieve it. On one knee, she racked the slide back to check the ammo.

The pale blue glow issuing from the chamber washed over her, sending a feeling of raw, unfiltered pleasure through her entire being.

_Pulse ammo. Thank Hyne and Vascaroon for the bounty I have received._

_I have a chance._

Brea stood, brought the weapon to bear and pumped.

“_Suck on this!”_

The air fizzled and the thin, crystalline sound of charging energy issued from the weapon. The pulse energy blast took Edea by surprise, and punched right into her shield, forcing her back. Brea charged it again and fired, feeling her boots scraping the marble as she struggled to keep her aim straight. As the second blast punched through and rattled Edea, causing her to yell out in pain, Brea herself began screaming her rage.

Edea turned her back to Brea. A flash of blinding energy forced Brea to look away as she charged it again. She didn’t know how many pulse rounds she had in it, but wouldn’t stop firing for anything.

Selphie’s shrill scream tore through the noise of Edea’s spell and the whining of the weapon in Brea’s hands. Pulse energy lit up the night and dissipated upon making contact with Edea’s outstretched hand. Brea pumped quickly, taking a momentary glance towards the other side.

_Liutenant General Tilmitt is down. General, where are you!?_

Brea pulled. The weapon charged, the sudden burst of energy tore through the air and splintered into thin waves, passing around Edea harmlessly. Brea pumped. The weapon emitted a shrill beep. She pumped again. Beep. Pumped again. Beep.

“Fuck!" she exlaimed. The Exeter was spent. Brea tossed it aside. She looked up to the sorceress, floating in the air, her eyes piercing through Brea’s.

“_End of the line for you.” _Edea said.

“You-“

A sudden burst of lightning struck her in her chest, sending her flying through the air. Her limbs flailing around uselessly, Brea heard the laughter of the sorceress before she crashed against the wall. She thought she smelled burnt flesh before unconsciousness took her.

* * *

Squall darted out of cover just as Brea fell, gunblade at his side, and sprinted towards Edea. He clocked Seifer coming in from the other side. They were on either sides of her, and she hadn’t yet spotted them. Squall calculated his trajectory, and then, tapped himself on the chest, whispering, _“Float.”_

He took three strides and kicked the ground, sending himself hurtling through the air and towards Edea, gunblade at the ready. Seifer was his mirror image, same speed and same diagonal trajectory - the hypotenuse leap. Squall came from her left, Seifer from her right, and they both swung at the same time.

Edea spun, arms tucked in, and Seifer missed his mark. Squall felt something vibrate his blade ever-so-slightly, but couldn’t be sure. The spell that kept him afloat lowered him until he was three feet above the ground. Swinging his upper body around, he turned just in time to hear Edea’s roaring _“Dispel!”_

As soon as his feet hit the ground, Squall broke into a run. Taking leaps and bounds over the sprawled bodies, he moved towards Edea. She was unarmed, barely three feet away, sending Seifer flying deep into whatever corridor was behind him with the flick of a wrist... two feet... striking distance.

Squall swung.

The sound of two blades crashing echoed through the battleground. Edea and Squall locked blades.

_Where did she get a sword from!?_

* * *

Edea pushed him away and swung in a graceful, upwards arc, which flowed into a semi-circle that wound up the horizontal swing. He parried, but Edea went along with the natural momentum of the sword and came at him from above, which he had no choice but to block. Squall, spotting Seifer, kept his sword locked, shifted his stance to accommodate. Edea kept pressing.

Seifer was almost upon her now and that was when Squall saw the gleam. The spinning gleam that threw itself over the fountain and went straight towards them. He knew what it was – a sword.

Seifer was within striking distance. He rose his gunblade, to bring it down with as much force as he could muster. Squall felt one of Edea’s hands leave the sword she was holding. The gleam drew closer.

Seifer swung.

The second sword, now in Edea’s hands, blocked it. Squall saw Seifer’s eyes fly open in confusion. Edea spun, causing them to leap back. When she stopped, she was in a Mantis opening stance. Seifer whistled.

“Pretty spry for an old lady.” he said.

“She’s junctioned them.” Squall said, “Drew their skill sets. Same trick Rinoa pulled on me.”

“Duly noted.” Seifer replied.

_“Brothers in arms... this will not save you.”_

“This ends now.” Squall said.

_It’s Rinoa, _a voice in the back of his head whispered, _Rinoa and Adel and Ultimecia. She’s junctioned the skill sets of those cadets and SeeDs... how fitting._

_It’s me against the world again._

* * *

Squall and Seifer came at her from opposite sides, their steps in sync and their maneuvers almost too perfectly meshed. They never moved an inch from their opposite poles as they orbited around Edea, gunblades moving gracefully yet with force. Edea countered their every move, every slash, every jab and thrust with frightening ease – she was a ballerina and moved with the practiced grace of one, dual swords gleaming as she parried, deflected, side-stepped and matched her rhythm to theirs.

Seifer leapt backwards, causing Edea to miss her swipe and allowing Squall to move in with a series of short, fast, powerful strikes. Seifer went for the opening, gunblade cutting through the air, only for Edea to lock blades with Squall, bring her spare sword to bear and stop his at such an angle that Seifer’s only choice would be to duck and roll, if he wanted to avoid getting sliced open. Before he could move, Edea, with one hand keeping up with Squall’s relentless pace, slid her blade along the length of Seifer’s. Seifer raised the handle to avoid a blow, bending his elbow up, but Edea spun around, removing her blade from Seifer’s. Seifer was wide open, and there was nothing between his body and the incoming sword.

It slid in easily, right between the ribs and exited out his back. Seifer’s hand spasmed and his gunblade dropped as Edea, without letting go of the handle of her sword, spun around and got behind him. As the cold metal began to send torrents of pain across him, Seifer felt another razor-sharp edge on his throat.

Squall stopped, gunblade frozen mid-swing. Edea smiled her vicious smile.

“_Not a step closer. He’s not in any mortal danger. I could’ve killed him now, had I desired to.”_

“What kept you?” Squall asked, lowering his gunblade, “Sentiment?”

Edea laughed. A guttural, distorted, disgusting sound.

_“Demonstration.”_ She twisted the blade inside Seifer, causing him to cry out, “_You are the last one standing.”_

“Whatever.” Squall said through clenched teeth.

_“You are alone.” _Edea said, _“The little boy who couldn’t handle living on his own, now has to die alone. Wasn’t that what scared you, Squall? That you would spend your life at a distance from others, never getting close to anyone, never touching anyone, never knowing the wonders of the intimate? Look at you! You, who came to tell me of SeeD – why else did you come to the orphanage when lost in the Time Compression? Did you think it was simple fate? Hah! You ran to me because when all was lost and all you had was despair and desolation, the one place you tried to run to was to me, and to them. You ran straight home."_

Edea pushed the blade further in. Seifer grunted, breathing heavy as his eyelids fluttered. He could feel consciousness struggling to hold on.

_"They are gone now. He is about to go, and you – you have nothing and no-one left to fight me with!”_

With a sharp sound mixed in with Seifer’s howl of pain, Edea pulled the sword out of him, spilling his blood onto the marble. Seifer dropped to his knees, and then, onto his side. Edea stepped over him, blood steadily dripping from her blade. Squall began to step back, very slowly. He had seen her skill with dual blades, and he only had one. Even at the best of times, it was a bit of trouble. Had she been a normal swordfighter, she would have had to divide her strength equally between two weapons and thus each weapon would carry half her strength – but Edea had no such limitation.

_“Now, it is just you and me.”_ She said, slowly raising her swords to an opening stance, _“And you will fall. They all do.”_

Squall found himself in his default opening stance.

Edea rushed forward, blades flashing as they moved, and came at Squall with an unending, impossibly continuous combo of swift, forceful strikes. It took Squall all he had just to keep up with it, let alone try to look for an opening – years and years of training and combat made him see easily that there wasn’t one, there wouldn’t be one.

_She’s going to wear me out, and that’s it. Matron is going to kill me._

Squall ducked a double-slash and rolled to get away from her. He had barely stood up when she fell upon him, blades coming down like the sharp edges of judgment. He blocked the move, steadied himself to push her away. When he did, he was surprised to see that she hadn’t seen the move. Squall tapped on his chest as quickly as he could, muttering _“Fast!”_ The spell took over as he reversed grip and went back at it. For a few moments, Edea was slowed down, as he was faster than she was, and Squall came at her mercilessly, cutting into her calves, slashing across her stomach.

The wounds closed as Edea countered, using her dual blades as independent weapons, without any harmony at all, and matched Squall’s speed.

_“Ultimecia is a time-witch, you idiot! Have you learned nothing!?”_

Squall couldn’t answer. He was breathing hard, his heart was pounding in his chest, and his body was aching. He could feel his muscles trying to stem the flow of lactic acid that came with exhaustion, digging into himself to find that little bit of adrenaline, to just keep him afloat a bit longer.

Light began to reflect on Edea’s weapons as she, little by little, backed him towards the fountain, towards the stage that would have served as the display ground for her execution. Squall knew he was losing. Every once in a while, Edea delivered a little shallow cut – on his chest, on his cheek, on his arm, just to show him that she could. Just to show him that she was prolonging this to kill him after he had been spent.

Squall’s spell wore off quickly as energy began to leave his body, taking with it the only thing that was keeping him afloat. He suddenly began to feel the weight of years tied to his limbs. He was slowing down. Edea wasn’t letting up.

A mis-step and Squall’s foot was caught in an unconscious body. Edea pushed then with both swords, drawing a graceful arc and knocking Squall off his feet. Squall fell hard, his gunblade still kept in his grip by the last of his strength.

Edea towered over him, bathed in the witch-light now surrounding her body. She discarded her bloodied swords.

_“This is the end of all things.”_ She said.

Squall looked up and in her eyes, he saw sadness. Sadness larger than the world, than the lives of every single human being on the soon-to-die world combined. The infinity of it, the eternal sorrow gleaming tore him to pieces. He saw through the tyrant from his fantasies. He saw through the childish anger of Rinoa, the power-hungry obsessions of Adel and found the helplessness of Ultimecia pouring out of the eyes of Edea. The sorceresses he had known, had fought, had killed, merged into one body – returned from the dead, come back to end him.

The hands that had killed Daniel, the hands that had squeezed his throat rose slowly, fingers blossoming. Bringing death, bringing the end.

Squall felt the cold handle of his gunblade in his hand.

“No.” he whispered.

* * *

Squall denied her everything.

* * *

When he moved, he moved with a speed and force he did not know was possible. Before Edea’s hands could shape the spell, he brought his gunblade to bear. He kicked as soon as his feet touched the ground and leading with his gunblade, lunged forward. He felt it slide in without any obstacle at all, but stop hard when her stomach hit the hilt. Squall impaled her onto the blade, causing a choked cough from her lips.

He screamed from the effort, screamed like a wild animal as he lifted her up by the blade, his hands shaking under the strain.

_“No!” _he roared and spun her around. The gunblade slid out of her as she fell, her head hitting hard against the side of the fountain. Squall was on her again, and his gunblade entered her flesh once more, this time piercing right into her chest. Edea gripped the blade with both hands, the cutting edge slicing into her hands, as Squall pushed in further, breaching through her ribs. He leaned in closer, using his weight to pull the weapon down, and found himself face-to-face with Edea.

Edea smiled as they locked in, face to face.

Squall watched the light fade from her eyes. The energy contained within her suddenly discharged, brilliant blue lights came pouring out of her. It was blinding. The light passed through him, gently caressing the core of his being, and for a moment, Squall saw the lives of the sorceresses unfolding, like knots unraveling by themselves, the stray strands showing moments in their lives that had made them who they were. The reflections twisted, and Squall saw himself, as if watching himself from the outside – almost down to one knee, hands on his gunblade, holding it where it was, stuck in Edea’s heart. He saw the truth in her words: around him were the bodies, some bleeding, some bleeding out, some intact, but all sprawled onto the marble floors he knew every single solitary inch of. Dead bodies littering his home.

Ocean Garden was a mausoleum.

The light faded, leaving behind only the shell of the woman he once would have called mother. Squall stood up. The gunblade slid out of her as easily as it had slipped in and then slipped from his hands to clatter on the floor. He took two steps back and his knees buckled. He fell.

One thought.

_It was all for nothing... everything..._

Squall screamed.


	14. SeeD

Years ago and far away, Squall was tied to a rack, tortured by a relentless, if infuriating and childish Seifer. His vision blurred from the pain, Seifer’s voice imbued with a predelayed echo, he had nevertheless heard the demand loud and clear.

_“Tell me what SeeD is.”_

_A code name, for Balamb Garden’s elite mercenary force... combat specialists..._

_“Don’t you already know?” _he had said.

Presently, as the lights of Ocean Garden dimmed around him with the influx of new light, of natural light, Squall stared at Edea’s dead body, and wondered: _didn’t you already know? Didn’t Ultimecia know, having fought SeeDs generation after generation... didn’t she know?_

Where she had fallen, her wound a violent contrast with the stillness of her body, the plainness of her clothes, Edea had no answers to offer. But Squall knew.

_Ultimecia could sense it in your mind. She could sense that there was something you were keeping from her. Some aspect of SeeD that you wouldn’t let her see._

Years ago, in the D-District Prison, Seifer had said:

_“There must be some kind of secret you’re given when you become SeeD!”_

Now, Squall was on his knees and trying to keep his hands from shaking, feeling the thin steaks of tears sliding down his face.

_Not us, not them – there was a secret. Great Hyne, it was a secret that you_ _ kept from all of us. You knew. Ultimecia didn’t, but you knew – Rinoa just inherited the deceit. That was why both were solely focused on destroying SeeD, because what they didn’t know of it left them with nothing but their own judgment... and you knew. All this time, you knew._

Squall felt his scalp itching from the inside. He recognized the symptom: the onset of madness. He had felt it many times during Rinoa’s nightmare, as he relived moments again and again, counting down to when it would happen again. His hands found his scalp, his buzzed hair leaving no strands to pull.

_This is SeeD. Your killers. Trained and primed, like any other weapon. Forged to murder you._

_SeeD is your suicide._

_I am SeeD._

“I am SeeD...”

Squall threw his head back and laughed. He laughed until his throat was sore. Nothing around him stirred.

Slowly, Squall reached for Edea. He began to re-arrange her limbs. It seemed unbecoming to leave her like that, all broken and twisted, the gaping wound in her chest (_Squall’s sword will pierce my heart, yeah, Rin?)_ sitting there like something out of his nightmares. He united her legs, feet pointing to the sky; he crossed her arms and with it, managed to cover up the wound. He turned her face upwards, and with gentle fingers, closed her eyes.

“I never wanted to be a SeeD, did I ever tell you that?” he asked her, “Well, I didn’t. I just didn’t know what else to do. Sis was gone and I wanted to be stronger, be better than I was. I would be alright without Sis, I thought. SeeD would teach me to be alright. Teach me to never need anyone. Besides, where else is a war orphan going to go?” 

Edea was silent.

“My father...” Squall remembered that Ellone was in the brig still, but he couldn’t face her, not just yet, “He told me a story once. I don’t know why, but we were drinking, and maybe the night-time chill of Cupola got to him but he said that there once was a soldier. He had been a soldier since he was a small child, and he had gone from battle to battle, war to war, for most of his life. He was an exceptional soldier and ensured victory in every battle he participated in, one way or the other. One day, however, the soldier stopped fighting. He retreated and left the battlefield forever. He then began to roam around, looking for a home, a place to call his own. He had suddenly stopped fighting, because he had seen that over the years, he had gotten old... but war was as young as it had been the day he had started fighting.”

Edea didn’t have anything to say.

“But my war isn’t over yet, Matron. There is one last thing that needs to be taken care of. I hope you will forgive me for this.”

Squall stood up and knew just where to go.

* * *

Natili didn’t know it was safe to come out yet. The sounds had faded some time ago, but she wasn’t entirely sure. She did not want to go out, sword in hand, and come face-to-face with the Sorceress who might or might not insist on a one-on-one with her.

Indecisive, she paced the living space of the double room, sword slung on her shoulder, contemplating her chances.

_This wasn’t supposed to go down like this._

Two years of searching and a good deal of planning alongside had just gone to hell in just five minutes and she was considering the possibility that she was the sole survivor. That thought opened her up to an entire spectrum of scenarios, from heavenly to hellish, which was what broke it. Natili straightened up, gripped her sword tightly, and marched to the door.

_I'm not some coward. I’ll go down fighting, I-_

She opened the door and Squall’s fist broke her nose.

Natili stumbled backwards, half-blind from the pain, and swung wildly, managing to put a dent on the coat rack standing next to the door. Squall’s next punch exploded in her gut, knocking the wind out of her. Squall moved swiftly, and palm upward, grabbed her elbow. His free hand came down hard and Naitli heard the arm snapping. She screamed, which was cut short by Squall’s head smashing against the already-broken nose.

Squall kicked her feet from under her, and Natili fell. He was on her in an instant, and the moment she rewound her leg to kick him, he slid past it. One hand came down on her throat and he was on top of her, eyes not full of spite and wrath as she had often imagined, but sorrow and weariness instead.

“You and I,” Squall said, “We have to talk. If you want to fight, I’ll crush your trachea right now. Nod if you agree.”

Natili strained to nod, but managed to do so.

Squall released her immediately. He sat down on the couch. Natili coughed and sputtered, trying to catch her breath, trying to move without her arm wrenching yelps and grunts of pain from her. But she clenched her teeth, and she bore it – she reminded herself that she was not the little girl buried under her home anymore. She was a cadet, almost-SeeD, whom had almost overthrown Squall fucking Leonhart. She dragged herself to the armchair facing the couch and tried to look less in pain than she was. Once she was seated, Squall began:

“I thought the archive was necessary after seeing you and your friends playing the sorceress game in Deling. When you came to me, to ask me how you became a SeeD, that only clinched it. I spent your formative years completing the erasure of all evidence that pointed towards Matron being the sorceress of our time. Ocean Garden resources were gone over first, line by line. We bribed politicians, we strong-armed librarians, we even threatened civilians into silence. We burned diaries, broke into homes; whatever we could do to collect and destroy information about her nature, we did. Because I don’t believe in the pre-emptive strike, and neither did my family.” He ran a hand through his scalp, “Matron wasn’t my mother. My mother died giving birth to me. But Matron... she was the only mother I had known and if you knew she had been a Sorceress from the start, then you should have known that before Ultimecia, she had lived with this power. She even gave the Headmaster the idea to form SeeD – specifically to counter her if she ever lost control.”

He waited, but Natili was rubbing her throat and trying not to move her arm. He continued.

“I couldn’t have you or anyone else going after her because she was what she was. She was a Sorceress when she took care of us, and Hyne knows how many other orphans. I want you to understand this. I want you understand that today, you let a good woman die because you are still that little girl that Ira was defending with a stick.”

Natili paused for a second, but didn’t say anything.

“As for me, Natili.” Squall sighed, “Yes, I could have stopped Rinoa years earlier, back in the Second War. I made a mistake. I tried to correct it, and I did, but it was much too late and came at a terrible cost. I’m not proud of what it took to bring her down. For a Knight to turn on his Sorceress is not unheard of, but it is rare – and I can tell you all the reasons why it happened the way it did, but I made my peace with what happened in Deling. I won’t apologize for or justify my actions. Not to you."

Natili nodded. "Fair's fair."

"There is just one thing I want to know: Zell’s tomb. How did you know?”

Natili cleared her throat and swallowed hard. “When we first found the terminal beneath the Guardian Force repository, we saw that it didn’t ask for a written code, fingerprint, or anything like that. There was just a small petri dish, and the screen said to input DNA sample. We knew it was one of you. That wasn’t hard to figure out.”

“Continue.”

“The question was which one.” Natili went on, “Knowing you, you anal retentive asshole, you would want it to be someone who was here all the time, who could come up and make it work at a moment’s notice. That ruled out the Gemini Squad. Trepe-“

“Lieutenant General Trepe.” He corrected.

“_Lieutenant General _Trepe was the next logical choice, but it wasn’t like she was here _all _the time, she handled Estharian diplomacy and the politicking and shit. That left the only one of you who could never leave here – Zell Dincht and the customary vial of blood in his tomb.”

“When did you break in?” Squall asked.

“During Dollet. Not us, but our allies here.”

“Why steal the diaries? You went so far as to make sure the Duke was dead.”

“There were only two sources we could use. The archive, and the Duke’s diaries. We used both, just to make sure.”

“That gave you what you wanted. So why did you leak the tape?”

“To fuck with you. To distract you, to keep you busy, and to hurt your reputation. If this thing went down the way it was supposed to, we’d start with your failure. We’d add it to Deling, show the world what a third-rate hack you all are. The Fated Children, strutting around with your medals and your star power – if you are giants, then we are small Chicobo, and we all serve as good as you... if not better.”

“Timber?”

“The woods? Yeah, that was us.”

Squall clacked his tongue. “I must admit, whatever else, you did run a complicated operation. It takes intensive planning and commitment to play the long game.” He chuckled bitterly, “Well played, cadet.”

Natili managed a smile, despite all else.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Unfortunately, you lost.” Squall’s eyes darkened, making Natili tense up, “You’d be an asset to the Garden. You’re a good strategist, and with some focus, you would use that talent for good. Someone who can run something this involved would be very useful.”

“Thank you, sir.” Natili said, her voice uncertain.

“But I can’t trust you, or any of your co-conspirators.” Squall said, “I can’t have someone with uncertain motives playing the role of the strategist here.”

“You-“

“No. I am not going to kill you. Don’t get me wrong, I would love to. And if it wasn’t for the Duke’s assassination, I would.”

“You’re... not?”

Squall shook his head, “No. I don’t know if anyone else besides you, me and Sis survived, but if they did, which I am hoping they have, I’ll put aside Garden Law. None of you will be executed here.”

Natili couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

“You and two more of the six squad leaders will be extradited to Dollet.” Squall said. Natili’s eyes flew open, she felt like she was doused with a bucket of ice-cold water, “The other three will be sent to Galbadia. If the new Duke desires, we’ll distribute the rest evenly. They will decide what to do with you.”

Natili sprung to action, but before she could take one step towards her sword, she heard Squall murmur.

_“Sleep.”_

Natili missed her step and fell onto her broken arm, unconscious.


	15. Truth

All had gone silent and Ellone, sitting on her cot, resting her head on her knees, was waiting still.

In her mind’s eye, she could see herself in the Esthar Presidential Palace, playing games with the Estharian soldiers and cyborgs, learning all sorts of interesting things from them. They had stifled her crying by being nice to her, they had made sure she hadn’t gotten bored by indulging her as much as they were able. On some level, Ellone suspected that this had been because Dr. Odine, the impish, malevolent man saw her as a specimen and nothing more, and would act as such... and she did recall that the soldiers that were her friends, didn’t like him very much.

Soldiers as friends...

To a child, anyone who was nice to them was a _friend, _Ellone knew. But then again, hadn’t that been the story of her life? The man she had seen, more or less, as her father, and once one of her two best friends had been a soldier. The members of her small family in the orphanage had all grown up to be soldiers, one of them had even died in battle. Another had taken his own life because he couldn’t fight.

Keeping the company of soldiers, young and old, Ellone had always been kept from war by them. To her, it lacked the weight it carried for others; it was an abstract concept that she could only express in connotations. War was waiting for Uncle Laguna to come home safe after he went out to curb the monster population of Winhill. War was Raine’s delicious tea that always took the edge off of her anxiety. War was teaching combat cyborgs to play hopscotch. War was hiding in a ship, surrounded by White SeeD. War was sending her brothers and sisters into the Time Compression. War was trying to find her lost little brother, trying to break through Rinoa’s barriers and waking up to nosebleeds and bouts of violent vomiting.

War was her fingers absently tracing the line where Natili’s dagger had cut her, just a bit.

Ellone shuddered.

Yes, war had been a distant idea for most of her life, but on that morning, war had become watching Cid Kramer die, his eyeball exploding and the shower of blood that had followed. The recollection brought tears to her eyes, tears that she stifled as best as she could. This was not the time for that.

_I wonder if they’re alright. I wonder if..._

_Who am I trying to kid?_

* * *

Ellone waited.

She knew how this would end, as she had seen it end many times before. But whether in captivity or simply sitting on a stool, propped up further on a few cushions to reach the bar, she still felt impatience clawing at her already shaky resolve.

The sound of the elevator doors hissing open startled her. Ellone got off her cot and went out to the hallway. When she found that she couldn’t stop herself; she dashed down the corridor, the bars flanking her on both sides passing by in a blur, and rushed out to the center of the brig. She saw a shape, a human shape, and could only process that it was Squall when she threw her arms around him and held him tightly.

Tears came pouring out and Ellone cried, sobbing into his chest, holding him close enough that she could feel his heartbeat... his steady, almost unnoticeable heart beat... the regular rhythm pulsing in his chest, without a trace of urgency...

Ellone realized that he was just standing there like a statue as she clung to him.

She released her hold and took a step back to take him in. The sight of him made her eyes open wide.

His face and neck, his entire head was shining with sweat. His eyes were bloodshot, and Ellone could saw streaks left from tears on his cheeks. He wasn’t wearing his uniform’s jacket, of course, but the white shirt he wore did nothing to lessen the impact of the various small cuts and gashes he had all over him.

He looked, to her, like he had been through hell.

“Hello, Sis.” Squall said, “I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Squall, you...”

“But it’s not over yet.” He said. His eyes pleaded, and his words followed, “Please, Sis. I need you to do something. Please.”

“A-a-anything, I-I’ll do it.” Ellone stammered, her fear beginning to surface.

“Connect for me. Take me to Matron’s past, the day she met me. The day she met me when I emerged from Time Compression.”

“I...”

Squall’s hands found hers.

“Please, Sis.”

Ellone knew then that she could never resist those eyes.

“Alright.” She took a deep breath, and by force of habit, gently cricked her neck. One hand caressed his cheek, her thumb wading through the muck of battle to reveal the skin underneath, “Here we go.”

Ellone closed her eyes and connected.

* * *

_The scent of salty water in his nostrils, the scent of home. The chilling moisture clinging to his breath, filling his lungs. The sound of the shovel digging into sand._

_The weight of it, in his hands. Heavy._

_In his ears, her voice. Her voice as he never wanted to hear, full of abject sadness, full of sorrow._

_“But they won’t live.” She said, “Why won’t they live?”_

_Regret in his throat. More pronounced than the knots in his muscles, making every dig of the shovel harder than the previous. An all-nighter, he thinks. His body rebels against the idea. He doesn’t pay it any mind. This is something he must do. So he digs. It’s a large grave, dug into a spot further into the beach, so that it won’t be discovered. He’s resolved to dig right down to sea level, make the mass grave as accommodating as possible._

_Thoughts betraying his heavily lined, yet cherubic face. How many graves has he dug, he wonders, how many children did he have to bury? He had none of his own. And yet, he had many children. Most of them were ashes now, gone. Their names, the bare idea of them preserved in plaques, etched into brass in standard typeset to mark their existence, to say that they were there._

_“But they won’t live. Why won’t they live?”_

_Maybe because they never learned how to, he thinks as he takes a breather. Maybe because they don’t know how to live. They were soldiers, every one, and they never could learn. They knew how to survive. It was better that way._

_Was it, though, he wonders. Was it truly better? At the end of the day, he had said that it wasn’t enough, and turned the gun on himself. Dead on the stage, scarring the surfaces forever._

_“But they won’t live.”_

_He returns to the action, sifting sand. He’s waist-deep in it now, moving as fast as he can, but he’s not a soldier, never has been. He’s not young either. Sure, 52 isn’t much to talk about, but in the world they are in, he’s already outlived the average. Oh, he had no illusions about it. He was old now, and weaker than he used to be. One day, one day soon, it’d be him in this hole in the ground, it’d be a stone spelling out his name to remind people that he had been there. Yes, he had been there._

_“Why won’t they live?”_

_Why won’t he? But that’s not the question, he knows. The question is and has always been: why will she? The answer was on this beach that he always wishes he had more time to walk. Strewn across the black water, illuminated only by the light of the crescent moon, the dark, bulbous shapes answer the question. Floating on the shallow shore, the scaled surfaces reflecting the light – why won’t they live?_

_Why won’t he?_

_It’s not a big deal for him. It isn’t – and that’s not a brave front. He’s lived all his life sending children out there to die, and he knows he will die as well. It’ll be easy for him._

_It’ll be much harder on her, his death._

_“But they won’t live.”_

_The other one, he remembers, is already dead. He’s somewhere on this beach, buried in a grave just like this one, on the night that she had strangled him with her bare hands. Dead to be saved._

_The shovel collects water and he knows that this is enough. His body lets him feel it then, a dull ache from the small of his back to his neck. A stiffness on his shoulders. A rough sensation in his palms, where small callouses will form in the morning._

_He climbs out, trying to move as little sand around as possible. He pulls the shovel along and stands at the foot of his grave. He sets the shovel aside. That was the easy part._

_Now to carry the corpses._

_“Why won’t they live?”_

_He takes off his shoes and socks. He rolls up his cuffs and the hems of his pants. He’s ready to go into the water, to collect the bodies that the water gives for the price of gold and silver. He feels like a stone in that moment, ready to sink down to the depths, disappear._

_He knows why they won’t live. He can see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. He can see it as she takes a needle and thread to mend one of the children’s clothes. He can feel it when she tosses and turns at night._

_He can see it when he looks at her. He’s 52 already. She’s two years older. He looks every one of his years – larger belly, whitening hair, crow’s feet, sunken eyes... she doesn’t look a day older than the day they’d first met._

_Almost thirteen years since the last war, and it was as if she was untouched by it all._

_“But they won’t live.”_

_They won’t live, no._

_But she will._ _All Sorceresses do._

* * *

Squall inhaled sharply and stumbled backwards. His hands were shaking uncontrollably and he could still taste the salt water of the ocean. The shapes floating on the surface, the dying Guardian Force he had found with Daniel on that day...

“Digging graves...” he murmured, “She was creating again...”

“Squall?” Ellone asked, her voice full of concern.

“That was Cid Kramer.” Squall said, “That was his past... that was a few months ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Ellone said sheepishly, and her gaze hit the floor, “It’s not so precise and sometimes, I...”

“Can you try again?”

Ellone nodded.

“Do it.” 

* * *

_“In order to die in peace, a sorceress must be free of all her powers. I know...for I am one, too. I shall take that sorceress' powers. I don't want one of the children to become one.”_

_The poor sorceress, defeated, grievously wounded and on the verge of death, is on the ground, trying to crawl towards her. Edea looks at her pleading eyes, and fears that someday, this will be her. Nevertheless, she pities her. She pities her like she would herself._

_“I can’t...” the sorceress wheezes, “...disappear... yet...”_

_Her head drops onto the stones and she begins to dissipate, her entire being slowly, like dandelion florets. A black, white and purple light emerges from within her and rushes to embrace Edea._

_The energy hits her like a freight train, and as the first spasms begin, Edea feels it entering through her skin and into her veins, to rush to her heart and be remade, born anew with every beat._

_Her eyes open up and as the sorceress steadily dissolves, she sees it._

_Edea sees the cobweb, spun by the looms of fate. _ _The strands that are weaved into the very fabric of time; luminous, vibrant, alive and tracing impossibly complex patterns reveal themselves. She knows that this is not the sorceress. This is the sorceress’ power merging with her own and giving her this fleeting window of clarity._

_She sees her children taking up arms to kill her, on a parade float in Deling, years from now, and she sees herself, barely keeping Ultimecia –the sorceress’ name is inside her now, a part of her, all of her and none- from killing him._

_And she sees them fighting again and again, even when they no longer are standing opposite of her – she sees war engulfing them, consuming them. She sees them fight and bleed and suffer and die. _ _She sees the survivors struggling, her orphans becoming broken adults, and a song echoes from the day they enter Balamb Garden until a day years and years from the parade float, growing louder and louder and louder..._

_Wake from your sleep, Fated Children – your slumber is over._

_She sees their fates, strands tangled up and sometimes moving in ways too intricate for her to see in that moment, but she sees where those threads meet, and where her own thread meets them._

_She sees her own demise at the hands of the boy before her; the boy who just went inside her to look for his lost sister. _ _Dying at the hands of the boy and glad, then and forever, that he did it, glad to be dead._

_As the energy starts to balance itself out, the threads begin to fade. As events, words, actions and consequences begin to slip away from her, a thought explodes in her mind and blinds her to everything else, forcing her to see the absolute truth, the First Gift of Ultimecia._

_One day, they will come for her._

_All the reasons why disperse, scattering all around as the power finally, mercifully, settles in, but her knees grow weak and she collapses._

_“Matron!”_

_Her knees never hit the ground, because it’s the boy, whose strong hands are keeping her standing. She looks up to see concern in his eyes. She wonders: how have his eyes stayed the same after all that he has been through? She wonders if his eyes will stay the same after he faces what’s waiting for him. But she knows she won’t get an answer for that. Not yet._

_The boy must not know, she decides._

_Why tell the children everything?_

_Best to let things take their course, she decides - best to let everything go where they will and then let the pieces lie wherever they may fall._

_But as he holds her, she can’t help but think about what will happen, and so she asks..._

_“Is this... the end?”_

_Squall helps her stand. She sees how weary he is when he speaks and so confirms her greatest fears._

_“...most likely.” He says._


	16. Silence and Motion

**(THREE DAYS LATER)**

This time, there was no chaplain. There was no ceremony, no prayers were said, and Hyne’s name was never brought up. This time, it was just four Fated Children, two that had become their sisters, and six shovels. This time, it was digging into the dirt, into patches cut into the flower field, the flowers around the plots defiantly alive and vibrant with color.

Laguna sat in a folding chair, in between Kiros and Ward, water bottle in hand, and watched his son work. Watched him put immeasurable strength behind every stroke. He then turned to his beautiful Elle, wiping the sweat on her brow with the back of her hand before continuing to dig. She had wanted to do this, she had asked to be one of the gravediggers. She was not a soldier, but she wanted to fill the grave just the same.

Second funeral of the day for all of them – Dollet was still clinging to their skin. The Duke’s ceremony had worn them all out, but they had other bodies to bury, one that didn’t need uniforms or official declarations. As they dug, the shovels and the occasional direction given was all that broke the solemn silence.

Watching Ellone, Laguna knew how hard it must have been for her. She had lost her parents first. Then, she had lost Raine, just like he had. Now, she had lost Edea as well.

_Maybe we are those we bury, _Laguna thought, remembering that old barracks philosophy.

Ward grunted.

“I’m not even going to dignify that.” Kiros said.

“It’s the only thing they know to do, man.” Laguna said, “We would’ve too, but we were never in that situation.”

“Not exactly true,” Kiros said, “, but it is well beyond us now. We’re old, Laguna. Too old to be digging graves anymore.”

Ward sighed.

“Yeah.” Laguna said, “Too old to be filling them, too.”

* * *

They gave Edea and Cid to the ground, side-by-side. They covered their bodies with more soil, this time laboriously added, both because of the burden they carried and how weary they were. They didn’t mark the graves – they’d rather think that the flower field was where they would all get together, where they’d all find each other and themselves.

In time, the field would claim them fully, and they knew, as they left the field, shovels dragging the ground, that their time would come, too.

* * *

They moved into the house for the wake. The living room was a wreck, with the broken window reminding them of the bullet that had changed everything. Cid’s blood had left a stain on the floorboards, one that all pretended not to look at. With the wind gently flowing through the cracks, making the quiet house creak, they sat down wherever they could and drank Estharian Gin and Galbadian Whiskey... and told each other stories. They mostly told them to Brea, who hadn’t been there; who didn’t know the childhood they had had in this house. They told her about Zell, about Irvine, about making bonfires on the beach, about wave-standing. About hearing rumours of angels, of gifts from faeries and of all the impossible things a child’s mind could conjure up.

Brea listened intently, hanging onto every word. This was the Fated Children in their most intimate; and even hough Brea had seen many aspects of all of them, her General in particular, she felt like she had never seen them as children before. So she listened and let them pour their loss into her.

Hours went by with memories, until Laguna caught the downward curve – the attempt to stretch this out, to stay, to make it last a little longer, to make it last this time. A bid to stay in a place full of memories, to maybe someday manage to fashion a life out of it.

He knew better. That’s why he was the first one to leave. Kiros and Ward followed, and then all the rest.

Squall lingered in the doorstep. He whispered a goodbye, and shut the door.

* * *

Squall went on to find Laguna waiting for him. Night had fallen, but the Ragnarok’s lights illuminated enough that Squall could see the effects of the last six months on his father. More lines on his face to draw shadows. His hair was still as long as it had ever been, but the gray strands were thinner than he remembered. Yet, his eyes, cat-like in the semi-dark, were still brilliant, still full of joy and life. A child’s eyes.

“All set?” Laguna asked with a gentle smile.

“I think so.”

Laguna chuckled. “You know, I feel like such a relic now. Hero of a war I doubt anyone even remembers anymore. It ended long ago.”

“You’re not a relic.”

“But we’re old soldiers, you and I.” Laguna said gently, “Me more than you.”

“That goes without saying.”

“But you’re not done... are you?”

“You sound concerned.”

“You’re my son. It’s my duty to be concerned about you.”

Squall sighed. “No, I’m not done yet.”

Laguna hung his head.

“I need to get back into uniform." Squall said, "You’ll drop me off in Dollet.”

“Dollet?”

“Natili Sulla will be executed tonight. I have their word that they won’t begin without me there.”

Laguna’s brow furrowed. He had thought that his son might have felt... a certain way about it, but he had seen plenty of soldiers who had been taken with death, be it by their hand, or someone else’s, to know that this wouldn’t lead anywhere good.

“I’m tired, father.” Squall said, his voice quivering, “But I owe it to Matron.”

“Squall, you don’t... you don’t have to see it.”

“I do.” Squall took a step forward, causing Laguna to flinch, but restrain himself in the next moment, “If they’d let me, I’d do it myself. A drumhead court martial was what they deserved – to be put up against the Quad wall and shot. The lot of them."

Laguna jumped when he raised his voice, but kept his mouth shut.

“Do you know what hate is?” Squall asked, his eyes glowing embers, “I didn’t know what it was until now. For everything they did to me, to us, to _them_... everything they took from me. They came into my home... no. They came into my _Garden_, they betrayed my trust, they used my own weapons against me... they forced my hand and if I had my wits about me then, I would kill every last one of them. But I didn’t. But it’s not over. It’s not enough to be sent a form letter, or even a personal one telling me that it’s done. It’s just not enough...” Squall shook his head, “No. I have to _know _they’re dead. I have to know she’s dead.”

* * *

Natili remembered reading about the Dollet execution procedures, as required, but she had never quite paid attention to any of it. Now, she was experiencing it first-hand.

Her last meal, prepared as per her instructions, had been exceptionally delicious, all things considered. They had then brought her a Hyne priest, if she wanted to confess her sins or to pray. She had wanted neither, but had instead asked the priest to tell her about witches, which the priest had, but there had been nothing in what he had said that Natili hadn’t heard before.

They had then brought her the dark red overalls. She had stripped down to nothing in front of the guards and had put it on. She was not allowed shoes. They had shackled her hands, which were bound by a chain to her ankles and neck, and had escorted her out of her cell.

Her bare feet didn’t make any sound, and the silence was driving her mad. She could see the main gate of the cell block, cast-iron bars approaching as she took half-steps forward, and knew what waited for her on the other side.

To her surprise, she didn’t feel apprehension or fear. What she found even more surprising was the fact that she didn’t have any regrets. Not a single thing came to mind that she wished was different. Perhaps it was that damn _Biblis Tactica_, read almost religiously by every cadet and SeeD that said, _“A good commander knows when to attack and when to retreat, and does not confuse the two. Admitting defeat is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign of maturity and good judgment.”_

There was also what Sir Kiros had had to say, regarding Rinoa’s rise to power and the entire Deling fuck-up: _“At the end of the action, it is pointless for a commander himself to turn back and try to spot the one thing that could have, would have, or should have changed the outcome. It recalls an old sharpshooter adage that once the bullet leaves the barrel, it does no good to wonder if it _should_ have; because it did, and one cannot take a fired shot back.”_

For better or for worse, her war, a mere nothing compared to those the ones she had chosen as her enemies had gone through, was over. She had played her hand as well as she could have, and at the end of the day, she had at least made sure that her mother’s loss had paid for. Some would call it revenge, she knew, but for her, it was justice – because there was no justice like the justice of revenge, and Natili knew it.

They brought her out to the prison courtyard, a walled-in, somewhat cramped space made even smaller by the gallows waiting for her, and the rows of chairs assembled in front of it. Spot lights illuminated the spaces, with one sadistically precise beam of light trained squarely on the noose.

Execution, it seemed, was a spectator sport of sorts.

Natili shuffled along, the warm stone pleasant under her feet, and looked up to see the new Duke of Dollet, Jan, the Duke’s son, and a splitting image of his late father. He was there in full ceremonial uniform, no honors or medals to speak of just yet, but patiently waiting for his father’s killer –after a fashion, anyway- to step up to die.

As Natili got to the steps, she spied a lot of people she was used to seeing in print or on the other side of a screen. Galbadian delegates, Field Marshals Mir and Kole, officials from Galbadia and Trabia Gardens... but the one she spotted instantly, decked in the gold and navy blue of his SeeD uniform, his eyes sunken but his posture perfectly straight, was Squall Leonhart.

Natili got up to the stage. She could see the thin lines marking the trap door that’d finish her, and the noose hanging above it, still and expectant. The guards pushed her on until she was standing front and center stage, facing a sea of glares – curious, bored, apprehensive, inquisitive... and him, tired.

* * *

“Natili Sulla.” Duke Jan spoke, “For your numerous crimes which will not be outlined here, save for the murder of the Duke of Dollet in which you were instrumental, you have been sentenced to death by hanging, as dictated by Dollet Law. Do you have any last words to offer before your sentence is carried out?”

Natili looked at the crowd. They were all expectant, ready to hang onto every word, ready to be able to say that they had heard someone speak her last. She wasn’t interested in giving them the show they were expecting. She looked down and looked Squall dead in the eye.

“You killed my mother.” She said, “And now, I’ve killed yours. We’re even, Squall. I did what I felt I had to do, because you wouldn’t. Because you couldn’t. But all debts are paid now, and I have no regrets. But you – do you even know how much blood is on your hands? Does anyone? I may be a traitor, and I may be a killer, but at least I am not a _monster_ like you.”

The crowd began their surreptitious murmuring. Natili expected Squall to say something, but he didn’t – not at first. A second sooner than Natili would have expected, Squall stood up, straightening his uniform, and spoke:

“Whether I liked it or not, when the Third War ended, we were left with a problem. The first and the final problem. I just didn’t find you or your friends capable enough to deliver the solution, especially when she hadn’t done anything to justify your actions. You’re not a SeeD and you’re not a soldier. You are notthing but a failed, would-be revolutionary; not that much different than Sorceress Rinoa when I first met her. You are just a little girl who has no understanding of who she wanted to kill... or even _why_.”

Natili’s eyes flew open as shock coursed through her. Squall sat down, and the guards began to move her while the Duke began to recite a prayer. Natili began to struggle, trying to wriggle her way out of the guards’ iron grip, trying to break free. It wasn’t regret, she knew – what she was feeling now was fear.

"You son of a bitch!" she shrieked.

He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t rattled, and despite how tired he looked, he wasn’t even shaken! The bastard was just sitting there, arms crossed, watching the guards hold her head in place, one gloved grip pinching her neck, to slip the noose.

_It wasn’t supposed to end like this! You bastard! You bastard, how dare you-_

The trap door opened. Those in the audience clearly heard the sound of Natili Sulla’s neck breaking the moment the rope ended. Her body jerked obscenely, limbs flailing, and slowly steadied itself, death-twitch vibrating her hands and feet.

Squall watched her hang hollow. He took a deep breath. He exhaled.

Hyne was in his heaven and all was right with the world.

* * *

Squall got out through the back gates. The guards saluted him as he went by. He didn’t stop or respond. The open air greeted him like a friend, and the night sky, still smothered somewhat by the spotlights of the prison courtyard, welcomed him home. Squall continued walking, following the paved, asphalt road until he saw, a little further down the hill, the familiar shape of the navy blue hovercraft. The side hatch was open, and from what Squall could see, Selphie was talking Brea’s ear off about something as the latter smoked a cigarette. Squall could hear her pleasant voice, now carrying an almost unnoticeable undertone of sadness.

“...was from the movie. His instructors, from what I heard, were all shocked, like, what the hell was he doing? How was that in any way a good opening stance? But he wouldn’t budge, he just kept working around it, because goddamn it, he was going to open like the Knight if he wanted to be one!”

Brea laughed, almost choking on the drag she had just taken. She began to cough as Selphie smiled, reminding her gently that those things were poison. Brea tossed the cigarette just as Squall approached. She saluted him. Selphie stood up. Squall could see in just Selphie’s posture that despite everything, she was still Selphie – rather ask him how he was feeling than to deal with how she was feeling.

“Is it done?” she asked.

Squall nodded.

“If there’s a hell, hope she burns in it.” Selphie said, “If.”

“That’s a big if.” Squall said, “Whatever. Hyne...” he began unbuttoning his jacket. When it was done, he felt better. “They’re all dead, Selphie. All of them.”

"I know what you're thinking." Selphie said, “We were just... living, I guess, just a week ago. Where did things go so wrong?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Brea asked.

“Granted.” Squall replied.

“I don’t think we will ever know.”

Selphie hung her head. “Yeah... yeah, guess you’re right.”

“Let’s just go home.” Squall said, “No matter what they’ve done to it, it is still our home.”

“Is it..?” Selphie’s voice was barely a whisper, “After all, is it still..?”

“It’s the only one we have.”

They stepped in, Brea getting in last. She closed the hatch and pounded on the cockpit door to signal the pilot to take off. The hovercraft shook as they settled, Selphie’s head on Squall’s shoulder as she began to cry, silently, without a single sob. Brea focused on the toes of her boots.

Squall, staring at his lap, was elsewhere entirely, in the grip of one thought.

_I’m done._

_...and Hyne, please... let this be the last._


	17. The Successor (Epilogue)

_There’s something important I need to tell you._

Brea was worried. As she kept an even pace through the Garden, passing SeeDs and cadets deemed innocent helping Garden Faculty and technicians repair whatever damage the redbands had caused, she wanted to run. For the first time in years, the pistols strapped to her waist didn’t offer any comfort.

She knew her General’s every mannerism, every mode of expression, every quirk, habit and inclination. As her aide and as the Major General, Brea had always felt that it was her duty to know these things.

But what she knew told her that her General was not about to congratulate her on her years of service. His voice had been so... serious.

_And since serious is his neutral mode of being, I’m almost scared to find out what it is that he wants to tell me..._

_...whatever. I would do it all over again just the same._

* * *

Squall looked at the clock. Depending on where Brea was at any given time before being summoned, and this time she had been in her dorm suite, she would take between five to six minutes, give or take exactly fifteen seconds.

The view screen showed protests taking place all over Galbadia, Dollet included, picket signs with innovative slogans such as **TRIM THE GARDEN **or **IT’S TIME FOR A HARVEST **bobbing up and down amidst the crowds. News anchors and political commentators alike discussing what Ocean Garden would become, or would be made to become now, having had their very own assassinate the ruler of a protected city-state.

Brea entered and found Squall at his desk, staring at the view screen, which he switched off as she walked up to his desk.

Brea saluted him, and, as she had done for the past thirteen odd years, she waited.

Squall smiled.

_Five minutes five seconds. Good soldier._

“At ease.” Squall said, “Thank you for coming.”

Brea couldn’t help but notice his sunken eyes, his dead gaze. His slumped posture. The half-full glass of whiskey on his desk. He looked absolutely defeated. Brea couldn’t recall a time when she had seen her General beaten. Even in the hardest days of the Third Sorceress War, he had managed to somehow stand up but now – he looked like he didn’t have the strength in him to move.

Brea had accompanied him to every place, talk show and meeting room he had been to in these past three weeks, of course, but she had only one thing to do, and doing her duty was second nature by now.

What he had had to do, however, had been much harder.

They had gone through this cycle before, after the Third War; but despite the collateral damage, nobody had questioned his integrity, his competence... they hadn’t dared. Brea would have had retribution for one single slight, but she had stood back and watched him weather the storm.

The storm had passed, and had left him, it seemed to her, without the strength in his bones to kill a fly.

“Thirty-two percent, even.” Squall said, “That’s how much we lost with the mass execution of the redbands. We will have to recoup that. And there will be a new Sorceress ascendant. Has been one for three weeks."

"Sir?"

"We're going to need to find her. Preferably before she discovers what she is or has a chance to connect with her predecessors. Wherever she is...." he trailed off before shaking his head and continuing “Whatever. Anyway. That’s not why I called you here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This,” Squall said, lifting a piece of paper up. Brea saw his signature on it, “, is my resignation, after a fashion. I already accepted it, but I didn’t sign it, so it’s not in effect yet.”

Brea shuddered. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

“Why?”

Squall took a large sip from his glass. He stared at her for a few seconds, with an expression on his face that questioned why she was even asking.

“I’m done, Brea.” He said, “I’m done.”

Brea waited. She knew he would continue.

“I’m...” He continued, “I’m so tired of this. I’ve fought this war for most of my life, and at the end, I won. But the cost of my victory, if you can call it that, was more than I was willing to pay.” Another sip, “So much so, that it’s next to nothing.”

“Squall...”

“Because it’s never enough. Funny...” he chuckled and raised his glass, “Zell was right all along. It’s just not enough. It will never be.” He knocked the glass back, “No matter how many obstacles I overcome. I won’t be able to stop, because it’s forever. I am not... Sorceress Edea was the last straw. I can’t go on like this. I’m getting older every year and the war, the same war that keeps happening, is as young as it was when I first came to this place.”

“Squall, you don’t understand.” Brea said, giving him pause, “Why do you think I followed you all these years? Why do you think I had your back when we went in, time and time and time again?”

“Tell me.”

“It’s because you are my General, and I follow my orders! Hyne, do you have any idea what you mean to me? You are the one that I trust to lead me into hell. You. The one I respect, the one I appreciate and admire – my General. This is who you _are_. To me. I never shirked from my duty, but my duty isn’t only to SeeD; it’s also to _you.”_

Squall chuckled, confusing Brea further. “I can’t quit just yet. Natili Sulla may have failed to take us down, but there’s too much damage to just let lie. And retirement, unless I’m dead or comatose, just means to recuse myself from active combat duty, becoming a reserve, so the Gemini Squad will remain on the roster. That is one.”

Brea’s brow furrowed. Where was he going with things she already knew?

“Second, just in case I die or get assassinated first, you know how the Garden Law goes. Did you know that Cid Kramer...” a pained expression crossed his face for a few seconds, “...was inspired by the succession of witches when he wrote this particular article?”

Brea shook her head.

“We never got to implement it. He just deferred all authority to me and washed his hands of it.”

“You have said that you had already chosen your successor, sir.”

Squall nodded. “I, Squall Leonhart, General and Garden Grand Master of Ocean Garden hereby appoint you, Brea Willings, Major General of Ocean Garden as my successor. Congratulations.”

Brea’s eyes flew wide open. She froze. Her mind tried to wrap itself around the proclamation, while Squall continued.

“Now that you’ve heard me say that, it’s done.” Squall said, “You can sign this too, if you’d like. It’s just bureaucracy. My order has been given already.”

Brea looked too tongue-tied to answer. Squall stood up, made his way around the table and stood right in front of her. He wasn’t much taller than her, but as Brea’s eyes crossed the distance, she found tears in his eyes.

His hands found her shoulders.

“Thank you.” He said, “Thank you for watching over me.”

“Sir, I...”

“Just do me a favor. Find someone to watch over you, when the time comes. Someone you can trust. Someone you can count on to have your back.”

Brea choked. She swallowed it down. She wouldn’t let herself do it, not now. It wasn’t appropriate.

“I...” she cleared her throat, “I will.”

Squall nodded, smiling.

“Good soldier.” He said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brea Willings jumped out at me during "Ashes." She was supposed to be a background character, mostly a throwaway, nothing more. But as the story went on, she grew and before I knew it, she had become an integral part of the story. That took me by surprise, too - just as how Estranged, intended to be a one-shot shipping fic, grew into what you have been reading.


End file.
